The Rise and Fall
by emmbrancsxx0
Summary: CROSSOVER: PART THREE OF THE SUPERWHOMERLOCK "HAUNTED MEN" TRILOGY. Silence will fall when the Once and Future King Rises.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **The Rise and Fall  
**Note: This is part of the Superwhomerlock "Haunted Men" Trilogy. Read Part I: Where Angels Tread, Part II: Haunted Men, and The Slow Path: An Interlude.  
****Programs: **_Merlin_, _Doctor_ _Who_, _Supernatural_, _Sherlock  
_**Setting: **_Merlin_, after "Diamond of the Day, Part 2"; _Doctor Who_, between "The Day of the Doctor" and "The Time of the Doctor"; _Supernatural_, between "Rock and a Hard Place" and "Holy Terror"; _Sherlock_, starting between "The Empty Hearse" and "The Sign of Three" and then between "The Sign of Three" and "His Last Vow."  
**Rating: **M  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Merlin_, _Doctor_ _Who_, _Supernatural_, _Sherlock_, or their characters.

**Chapter One.**

There once lived an old man to whom no one paid much attention, and whom no one really knew. He lived a simple life, in a small one-floor home—alone, but for some reason he always had the spare bedroom made up. Each day he would take a walk out of town and stare at the lake at the bottom of the hill, as though he had memories of standing on its banks.

When he was a young man, before the town and the roads had been built, he would stand ankle-deep in the water for hours, talking to—and on some drunken occasions, raging at—the emptiness, but it had been years since he'd forgotten what the water felt like on his skin.

Kids and adults, each watching him with quiet curiosity, would walk passed him as he looked at the lake these days from his place on the bridge. "It's like he's waiting for a fish to sprout legs and walk right out," the townspeople would speculate with a laugh, but none of them knew for sure why he would do this each day—like clockwork—and no one ever bothered to ask.

He spent the remainder of his time alone, and he seemed to love watching the news, even though none of it ever had to do with the people of that small town. Why would it? After all, nothing of importance or excitement ever happened in there. Still, he watched the television eagerly when those robots from the sky invaded and new planets appeared on the horizons; he laughed at the papers when they followed the story of those two murdering brothers in America; and he shook his head grievously at the journalists when that proclaimed fraud detective took a swan dive. He followed those particular stories with particular interest, and he seemed to relish bad news and national tragedies in general, even the current one.

Everyone had heard of the recent terror attacks and killings in London. They were normal people—business women and working men with families and happy lives—who just decided to get up one day and stab their coworkers or blow up schools; many had even tried to break into official government buildings. However, when they were caught, none of them seemed to have reason for their wrongdoing. "Temporary insanity," the media doctors were calling it, but people whispered rumors and wondered how many cases of temporary insanity could plague so many people in such little time. These rumors spread further and faster when the Queen was advised to holiday in Windsor when there was an attempt on Buckingham.

Then there were the missing persons reports. All over the UK, people seemed to vanish without a trace. The authorities hadn't found a single one of them for months. Weekly, someone from the Department of Defense or the Prime Minister's office would hold a press conference ensuring the people of Britain that everything was under control; but the Prime Minister himself was never present during these broadcasts.

And all the people of this town could do was shake their heads and watch idly. They did not know what was going on with the world recently, but they chalked it up to there being something in the water.

And the old man still waited.

But even now, the old man refused to get his hopes up. He would not frequent the lake more than once a day, because he knew he would only be disappointed—just as he was during the Revolutionary War, and during both World Wars, and countless other events that brought the nation to its defiant knees.

He would not give up hope, but nor would he hope too much—until that night.

He had a troubled dream, a memory of a face that he had long lost in this new and unfamiliar world. The face was smiling at him and extending a hand, but he could not reach for it. He also found that he could not breathe, and each time he tried to suck in air, his lungs would fill with water.

"Come to me, old friend," said a kind voice, meant for another man from another life. "I'm waiting."

He awoke with a gasp, and the light bulb in the lamp next to his bed shattered. He could do nothing but breathe heavily for a moment, staring into the darkness. Finally, his bare feet hit the carpet and he sprinted to his bedroom window. All the streetlights had gone out, and there wasn't the glow of a single light in any house on the block. The man pulled an apologetic face, knowing that his magic had caused the electrical shortage, but knowing too that such a blast of involuntary magic bursting from his skin meant something big had just happened.

He remembered his dream.

"Arthur," he muttered under his breath, and it was an ancient word that he had not uttered in centuries—a word that felt warm on his lips. It felt like home.

He quickly pulled on his shoes and wrapped his coat over his pajamas. His hat was on the nightstand, and when he went to retrieve it, his eyes caught a face in the mirror above the stand. It was a face that he had not seen in hundreds of years, and for a moment he forgot everything and gaped at it. He brought his fingertips to his cheek, touching his smooth skin. His unkempt gray hair was replaced with short, raven hair, but his dark blue eyes still sparkled with the unmistakable air of knowledge and a life too long. It took him a moment to remember the face, until he recognized it as his own.

He was young again.

The initial shock died away, and the vitality of his youth flowed through his veins. He sprung into life, and left his hat abandoned on the nightstand as he ran from his house and down the pitch-black street, leaving his front door wide open in his wake. Arthur's words were still ringing in his ears.

By the time he reached the edge of the lake, the sun was peeking out from over the horizon. As though this moment had been waiting for him, and not the other way around, the surface of the water rippled and a figure, at last, rose from it. The light of the rising sun hit the figure's golden hair, and made the water droplets falling from his body twinkle as they fell back into the pool.

Merlin looked upon the sight with a breathless smile, hardly able to believe his own eyes. He had waited for this moment for an eternity—he had dreamed of it, but the dreams always portrayed a faceless man. The face in the near distance, however, was one that Merlin could not believe he had forgotten. In a rush, Arthur's bright blue eyes and toothy smile filled his memory, and he longed to see those features up close.

"Arthur!" he shouted as he ran full-speed into the lake. He ran until he could no longer stand, and he kicked his feet from the murky bottom and began to swim. Arthur seemed to be floating. Merlin pushed his body to swim faster, and soon caught up to Arthur, but accidently splashed him in the face with the effort it took to stop himself.

"_Mer_lin, you idiot!" Arthur shouted after spitting the water out of his mouth. "Watch what you're doing, will you?"

On any other occasion Merlin would have shouted back, but he found himself letting out a laugh, because that was so . . . well, it was just so _Arthur_.

"You've just been surrounded by the stuff," he said, deliberately splashing Arthur this time. "You can handle a bit more of it."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but his bright smile betrayed him. "Just get me to shore, will you?"

"Oh, yes, can't have you pruning," Merlin retorted.

He hooked Arthur's arm around his shoulders and they began treading through the water together. Finally, they reached the shore, and Merlin wanted to collapse onto the ground, but instead found himself falling into Arthur's arms. Arthur had wrapped them around Merlin tightly, and in an instant Merlin's world was filled with Arthur's familiar scent mixed with the smell of muddy lake water. Merlin felt the long-forgotten roughness of chainmail against him in the embrace, too. It was strange, but he had half a mind to polish it.

And that was the last time the old man ever went the lake—except for one.

* * *

The sun was lighting up the entire sky by the time they made it up the hill into Merlin's neighborhood. People were already milling about their gardens, and the two men earned strange glances from the neighbors as they stared quizzically at Arthur's chainmail and the long, sopping red cloak wrapped up in Merlin's hands. One man's gaze followed them, almost unblinkingly, until they were out of sight.

Merlin paid them no mind. His eyes were on Arthur, who was viewing the changed world with a mixture of excitement and horror in his eyes. He waved his gloved hand regally to the onlookers every now and again, and jumped into defense at the sight of every streetlamp or telephone pole. On the way up the hill, they had run into a garbage truck, speeding down the road and honking its horn, and Arthur nearly unsheathed his sword and jumped into the middle of the road before Merlin could grab him. Besides that one incident, in which Merlin feared Arthur would die just as he had come back, Merlin was brimming with euphoria as he saw the world anew through Arthur's eyes. His smile was wide enough to crack his cheeks, and he felt the old sensation of happiness warming his bones.

He led Arthur down the stone walkway to his front door, and closed it behind them once they were inside. Arthur looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings with discomfort etched on his face. Merlin should have expected Arthur to turn his nose up at the small house, as it was hardly fit for a king; but, in Merlin's defense, he hadn't had visitors in quite some time.

"It's nice. I like it," Arthur said in a tone that Merlin instantly recalled as his lying voice, so Merlin moved on. He changed into dry clothes and retrieved a set of spare modern clothing that he had kept around for Arthur just in case, as he did for every trend in every era. These—the pair of jeans, the trainers, and the T-shirt and hoodie—Arthur did not even pretend to like. He insisted that he stay in his chainmail, but Merlin eventually persuaded him and even helped Arthur get into them properly (after a mishap where Arthur put the jeans on backward and the shirt on inside out). When he was dried and dressed, Arthur did admit that these new clothes were more comfortable than armor.

A half hour later, Arthur was sitting at the table in Merlin's modest kitchen, devouring a plate of scrambled eggs and jam on toast. Merlin watched him fondly as he leaned against the sink and waited for the coffee to be ready, as a cup of morning coffee had become a part of his daily ritual, and had been since the early 1820s, and he was not about to stop now. Although, he did make sure there was enough for two cups that morning.

He placed a steaming mug of the stuff in front of Arthur, who grabbed it without looking at it and started gulping it before Merlin could shout, "No, it's hot!" Arthur began to cough and spit the scalding liquid back into the mug.

"_What_ is that, Merlin?" Arthur said as soon as he could feel his tongue again, distaste written on his features. Merlin couldn't help but smile softly again at the fact that none of Arthur's expressions had changed.

"It's coffee," Merlin told him, wiping up the spilled substance with a paper towel.

"It's fowl," Arthur retorted.

"It's an acquired taste," Merlin defended, taking his place against the sink and sipping his own cup gingerly. Arthur watched him with a wrinkled nostril.

At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Arthur's eyes went wide as he leapt up from the table. Merlin looked at him with bemused sympathy.

"It's fine," he said, assuring Arthur that they were not under attack, and went to the door. Despite his coolness towards the subject in Arthur's presence, he had to admit he was a bit confused. Who could be ringing his doorbell? In all honesty, he didn't even know he _had_ a doorbell.

He opened the front door a crack at first, and saw through it a small, brunette-headed boy standing on his front stoop. Merlin was vaguely aware of Arthur peeking through the entranceway of kitchen, wanting to make sure everything was all right.

"Hello?" Merlin said to the boy, his voice still confused.

The boy mimicked his expression. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "Who are you?"

Merlin's eyebrows darted up to his hairline. "_You_ knocked on _my_ door," he said, and then he wanted to laugh: He had just sounded like the old man that he was.

The boy looked sheepish. "Sorry, sir. I thought this was Dr. Smith's house."

Merlin nodded. "It is."

"Oh," said the boy again. "Well . . . my mum wanted me to check up on him, what with the electric out and all. She said he might be needing some help . . . 'cause he's old."

Merlin blinked in surprise at the boy. He had always regarded his neighbors as cold people, but perhaps there was more humanity in them than he thought. It almost made him feel bad about blowing out their power—and then using magic to fix only his circuit breaker—even if it hadn't technically been his fault.

"Ah, well tell your mum Dr. Smith is just fine," he told the boy.

The boy nodded, and then peered behind Merlin at Arthur with a furrowed brow. Arthur waved at him unsurely.

"I never seen you around," he said to Merlin. "Who are you?"

"I'm—," Merlin considered what to say for a moment. "I'm Dr. Smith's grandson," he settled on. He nodded back to Arthur. "That's my mate. We're in town visiting for a while," he added, although he wasn't sure why.

"Oh," said the boy. "Okay. Well, not much goes on 'round here ever, so don't expect anything exciting."

Merlin glanced back at Arthur again, and for the first time he realized that Arthur's presence wasn't exactly a _good_ thing. It meant something was about to happen—perhaps something bigger and more terrifying than the UK had ever seen before. His heart in his throat, Merlin told the boy never to say never, and sent him on his way.

"Dr. _Smith_?" Arthur asked when Merlin closed the door and headed back into the kitchen.

"Well, I could hardly go around calling myself _Merlin_," Merlin admitted. He was still getting used to hearing himself addressed with that name again. The first time Arthur called for him, it took him a few moments before he realized he was being beckoned. No one had called him that in such a long time, and the word was almost as rusted as Arthur's discarded chainmail to his ears.

"Yes, but Dr. Smith?" Arthur said, retaking his seat at the table.

"The _retired_ Dr. John Smith," Merlin corrected. "I got the name from—," he found himself smiling fondly at a memory, "—from an old friend."

When he looked back at Arthur, Arthur was looking at him as though he was seeing Merlin for the very first time. His face was set and stony, but his eyes were bright and full of a light Merlin thought had long gone out—the light of the old world, a world that now only existed in legends. Arthur hadn't changed a bit, and he was still beautiful. Merlin wondered how he could ever forget that face.

"You've changed quite a lot," Arthur said after a moment, looking Merlin up and down.

Merlin nodded. He felt older than he ever had before.

"What year is it?" Arthur asked, more airily than before.

"Two-thousand-and-thirteen," Merlin said promptly, and he watched as Arthur's eyes widened and he sat back heavily in his chair. Merlin's beamed at him. "It's been a long wait."

"Yes, well, you certainly don't look like you've waited that long," Arthur said, and it took Merlin a moment to remember the face he'd seen in the mirror just a few hours before.

"I moisturize," he joked, but Arthur only furrowed a confused brow at him. "But never mind that," Merlin continued. "Why—?" He let out a sigh. He wanted to badly to keep living in the happiness of having Arthur back. He didn't want to think about the days to come, but he had to be ready. "Why have you come back?"

Arthur shrugged. "No idea," he said. "You're the one who always talked about destiny, Merlin."

Merlin searched him. "But there must be a reason. Here—"

He disappeared into the next room and returned a moment later with his laptop. He set it on the table in front of Arthur and leaned down over it, opening a series of articles he'd saved over the past few months. He was about to reach for his reading glasses before realizing he no longer required them.

"Maybe this has something to do with it," he murmured, resting his chin on his palm as he clicked through the articles. "People have been trying to break into government buildings. Just the other day, someone tried to plant a bomb in Buckingham's garden. And there's been killings and shootings all around for no reason. They must be connected somehow—"

"Merlin?"

"—They must be adding up to something—"

"Merlin."

"—But what? And why now?"

"Merlin, what is this thing?"

"What? Oh!" He had never had to describe what a computer was before. He tried hard to remember what they had been described as when they first came out, but he could not. "It's a laptop," he said lamely in ways of explanation.

"A lap . . . _top_," Arthur said, staring at the thing as though it were the enemy. "It's a magic box."

"No," Merlin corrected. "No, it's like—it's a way to get information and to connect with people and things from all around the world instantly."

"A magic box," Arthur said with resolve.

"No! Just—look, focus on what it's saying, not what it is," Merlin said, straightening out and deciding to power through Arthur's confusion. "The Queen's left Buckingham—that's the palace now. There's something going on that they're not telling the public—and me. They must know something, and it must be a matter of public safety. Terrorists, maybe? But that's happened loads of times before. What's different?"

"Right," said Arthur, standing up again. "So let's go there and find out."

Merlin chortled. "We can't just waltz right into Buckingham Palace, Arthur."

With the way Arthur was looking at Merlin, it occurred to him that Arthur hadn't understood the expression, but he spoke anyway. "Of course I can," he was saying arrogantly. "I'm the king."

"No, you're not," Merlin told him. "Not anymore. And, even so, the monarch has very little power anymore." Arthur looked hurt by this, and Merlin felt a pang of guilt stab his heart. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "The point is, we can't just knock on the Prime Minister's front door—especially not without raising suspicion with the current terror attacks . . ."

He tilted his head, a thought suddenly striking him.

"But I think I might know someone who can."

* * *

Getting Arthur onto a train was probably the most difficult thing Merlin ever had to do, just when he thought convincing Arthur to leave his sword at home was hard enough. Arthur spent the majority of the train ride clutching onto the bottom of the seat, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. Merlin couldn't help but laugh at him, and Arthur constantly kept shooting daggers at him and telling Merlin that he was the King of Camelot and Merlin could not laugh at him. Comments like these earned Arthur agitated or confused stares from the tops of newspapers.

They finally made it to King's Cross, and Merlin had to take Arthur by the arm and lead him as they wove through the throng of commuters. Arthur was completely oblivious to where he was being led, as he was too busy looking all around him, at the people, signs, and glowing schedules on the monitors above. He was completely awe-stricken and totally overwhelmed, and Merlin was certain he would have a heart attack when they reached the outside.

"Now, Arthur, this is a city. It's called London," Merlin prefaced. "There will be a lot more people here—and there are lots of tall buildings."

Arthur snorted. "Please, Merlin, I was born and raised in a city."

Merlin took in a sharp breath; he felt a headache coming on. "London makes Camelot look like a barren wasteland."

Sure enough, Arthur's jaw dropped as soon as they stepped outside. He stopped dead, instantly causing a massive pile-up at the door, and Merlin had to take him by the shoulders and steer him out of the way when people began throwing profanities Arthur's way. Once clear of the door, Merlin spun Arthur around to face him, a hand on each shoulder.

"You're fine," Merlin said, trying to coach his breathing. "It's just a city. You'll be alright."

There was fury in Arthur's eyes as he tore himself from Merlin's grasp. "Of course I'm fine! For god's sake, Merlin, I'm not a child!"

Merlin decided he shouldn't back-sass him. It was okay for Arthur to get angry; he had to work through his confusion as best he could—and anger was the only way he knew how. So Merlin kept his hands to himself and let Arthur follow him into the crowd, praying that a cab ride wouldn't be too much of an ordeal for Arthur.

* * *

Without much incident, they reached their destination, and Merlin and Arthur stood on the pavement, facing an awning that read _Speedy's_. Next to the café was a residential door, with the number 221B catching the sunlight.

"I think this is it," Merlin thought aloud, starting towards the door. "This is the address the blog gave, anyway."

He was knocking on the door when Arthur asked, "What on Earth is a _blog_?" But, before he could answer, the door swung open, revealing a small, pretty older woman in a floral-patterned dress and an apron.

"Hello," Merlin said, facing her. "I was wondering if Sherlock Holmes was in? I would have phoned, but I don't have his number."

"Oh, yes, dears," said the woman in a kind voice. She opened the door wider and gestured to the staircase. "He's just upstairs. Have you got a case for him? I do hope so! He makes such a mess when he's been idle for too long."

Merlin smiled politely as he and Arthur followed her inside. "I think so," he said. "If he'll take it, that is. You know how he can be."

The woman's face fell slightly. "Oh. I didn't know you knew him."

"Oh, I don't!" Merlin quickly corrected. "Not really. We met just the once, a—a _long_ time ago."

"I see," the woman said, even though Merlin was sure she didn't. "Well, as I said: he's just upstairs. Forgive the clutter." With that, she disappeared back into her own flat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

The door was open when they reached the top of the stairs, and they could hear the bickering from halfway up.

"Schools? What could _schools_ do with them?" said the deeper voice of the two, muffled slightly against the barrier of the walls.

"I don't know, how about for _science_ _projects_?" came a second voice, louder than the first by nature, and sounding a hundred times more annoyed. "You know all about those, don't you, Sherlock? You've got enough of them going on in the bloody refrigerator."

Sherlock went on as though the other man hadn't spoken.

"Schools," he scoffed as Merlin and Arthur paused outside the doorway, looking at each other in a silent debate as to who should go in first. "Those were very delicate instruments, John, and you've committed them to a life of basic chemistry—_Come in_! Or are you planning on standing in the doorway all day?"

Next to Merlin, Arthur jumped slightly at the sudden realization that their presence had been known, and the two shared another glance before Merlin started fully into the room. As he did so, he took a quick, surveying look around the flat—at the exotic, mix-matched wallpaper, the chaotic décor, and the skull sitting nonchalantly on the mantelpiece. His eyes soon fell on the two men in the room, one short and fair, who Merlin had never seen before but recognized from the small pixilated portrait of him on his blog, and one very familiar man, still in his pajamas and dressing gown despite it being midday, propping himself up suddenly from his slouch on the armchair on the other end of the room.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked immediately, his posture going rigid in preparation.

The other man, John, who was standing a few steps out of the kitchen, swiveled his head back to Sherlock and his forehead creased in concern and confusion.

"I think you already know," Merlin told him, and Sherlock eyes moved behind him to survey Arthur, who was keeping very close to Merlin.

At once, Sherlock kicked out his folded legs and jumped up from the chair. Cupping his hands behind his back, he paced towards Merlin and Arthur, keeping his eyes exclusively on the latter, and taking a circle around them.

"In the flesh this time, I take it?" he asked. "Not another one of your tricks?"

"I can hardly believe it myself," Merlin admitted. He didn't strain his neck to follow Sherlock's motion, but Arthur did.

"How long?"

"Since this morning."

"Hm? This morning? Why not last year?" Sherlock asked in rapid-fire. "That business with the lights in the tomb?"

"And the lights on the lake," Merlin retorted. "I thought it would happen then, too, but . . ."

"Yes, Castiel said there was someone watching from across the water. I expected it might have been you."

"Slow down," John called, seeming frustrated from being kept out of the loop. He bristled, collecting himself. "Sherlock, who are these two?"

"Just the question I was going to ask," Arthur answered through his teeth, directing it at Merlin more than at John.

"This is Sherlock Holmes," Merlin told him. "He's a detective. Best in—well, anywhere, and he's been helping me. Not directly. Actually, I haven't seen him in hundreds of years, but he's kept an eye out, anyway—for you." He then held up an overturned palm to John and said, "And this . . . You're John, aren't you?" His eyes flickered to Sherlock quickly. "Sorry—but I'm guessing most people bypass pleasantries in front of him."

"John," Sherlock stated simply, not looking back at his friend, "this is Merlin and Arthur."

Across the room, John only blinked. Once, twice . . .

"_Who_?" he asked after a very long pause and an awful lot of blinking.

"There's a book on the shelf," Sherlock told him breezily. "You could read up on them."

"No, wait—," John stammered, pointing a finger at them and taking a solitary step forward. However, Sherlock overrode him.

"You think this has something to do with the recent terror strikes?"

"You think they _are_ terror strikes?" Merlin asked.

"If they're related to what I've seen."

"And what about all those people who have gone missing?" Merlin asked him. "Remind you of anything?"

"Lawrence," Sherlock responded immediately, and something behind his eyes flickered for the briefest moment. It made him tense, and then it was gone. "I've been keeping an eye on the missing persons reports. I haven't found anything."

"Time to look harder, then," Merlin said blatantly, and Sherlock quirked his brow at the demand. "I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. If these aren't normal killings—"

Sherlock abruptly shoved passed Merlin and crossed to the edge of the room, and all heads swiveled to follow him this time. He was studying an array of pictures and Post-Its taped to the wall and connected together by string. To Merlin, the photos looked like there were of ordinary people and the notes were only single words or incomprehensible scribbles, but he was certain they each had a deep meaning. This was Sherlock's mind-map on display, and Merlin ventured a guess that it had something to do with the terrorists.

"No, it's not possible . . ." Sherlock was muttering.

"What's not?" Arthur asked, but he received no answer.

Instead, Sherlock spun around swiftly, causing the rope of his dressing gown to whip around him, and locked his eyes on Merlin.

"I'll find you an answer," he promised. "Maybe I'll even find my answer—kill two birds with one stone. Maybe not. Probably . . . _not_."

"Are you saying that—_organization_—the one that attacked me—they're, what?" John snorted sardonically and crossed his arms over his chest and licked his lips. "A part of some Arthurian legend?"

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock told him with a flutter of his hand. "The two could be totally unrelated—or demons, perhaps."

John's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and he looked at Sherlock as though he had gone completely insane. However, Sherlock's expression remained even.

"Anyway," Merlin said, breaking the silence. "Like I said, eyes and ears." He cast a look at John. "And catch him up. We may need all hands on deck."

Sherlock blew out his cheeks and gave a sarcastic salute, and Merlin knew that was the most confirmation he'd get. He wrote down his phone number and ushered Arthur out of the flat.

"All hands on—? For _what_?Sherlock, you can't be serious," Merlin and Arthur heard John saying as they walked down the stairs, and the bickering continued despite having moved to another topic than before. "Is this some kind of joke? Are you having me on again?"

"Merlin, how on Earth do you know those men?" Arthur muttered as Merlin held the door open and they stepped back onto the pavement.

Merlin snorted a laugh, reading Arthur's tone. "Trust me," he said. "Out of the people I know, they're the least strange."

* * *

While they were in London, Merlin suggested they spend the day in the city to get Arthur better acquainted, which was at first disastrous, but Arthur soon settled into the sights and even began pulling Merlin along to the next thing that caught his eye.

He picked a restaurant in Covent Gardens for an early dinner, and Merlin took Arthur inside the marketplace and treated him to steaks—which Arthur seemed to love, as he ate his own, half of Merlin's, and then ordered one to go, much to the waiter's dismay. Merlin took Arthur into some of the shops and forced him to try on clothes, as he had gotten his size slightly wrong and the jeans and hoodie Arthur was currently wearing were a bit too baggy on him. At one point, Arthur grabbed Merlin by the arm and ran him towards one of the street performers, who was doing card tricks and juggling in the center of the square. Merlin grinned as Arthur leaned in and claimed the man was a sorcerer, and then promptly said Merlin would be better at the same tricks any day. Finally, they grabbed a slice of a fruit pie and two Starbuck's coffees—which Arthur said was much better than the brew Merlin had given him earlier—and they headed back to King's Cross.

It was nearly ten o'clock when they reached Merlin's local train stop and began the trek up the hill to the small neighborhood. Merlin noticed light emitting from some of the houses in the distance, which meant the electricity was back on—which was good. After five minutes of walking in contented silence, the lake came into view. Merlin watched it as they passed, able to see the current of the small waves that reflected the light of the full moon. Then his gaze turned to Arthur, who was treading alongside Merlin with the swagger Merlin remembered so well now. He smiled softly at Arthur, but Arthur didn't notice.

"You don't suppose we could get one of those cabbie things to get us up the hill?" Arthur was complaining.

Merlin threw up his hands in mock exhaustion. "You're already spoiled by this century! I knew that steak was a bad idea! And they're not all called cabs, you prat. They're cars."

"Whichever means I don't have to walk this hill every day," Arthur retorted. "I do miss my horses, though."

Merlin chuckled. For the first time in a long time, he was happy.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Arthur had good days and bad days. He sometimes became angry and frustrated, and Merlin could see how much he missed Camelot and Gwen. On occasion, Merlin would catch Arthur staring into space, looking as though he had forgotten something he could not name, like he had left the kettle boiling. Merlin tried to make it easy for Arthur in every way he knew how, but most of the time he felt as though he were teaching the ways of the world—everything from driving a car to how to use a revolving door—to an extraordinarily stubborn, back-talking infant; but, all in all, Arthur was adjusting.

He had taken to a great love of football, a love matched only by his passion for steaks. He even got a job delivering newspapers, so that he could afford to buy Merlin a Christmas gift, which turned out to be a package of Starbuck's coffee. However, on that day he also unwrapped a bright red scarf, which Arthur demanded that Merlin wear every day. Arthur was ecstatic when he himself received a season ticket for Crystal Palace, along with his very own laptop. Later that month, they rang in the New Year by joining in on the celebration of watching fireworks over the Thames, which made Arthur very pleased indeed. They even planned on taking a trip to New York once they had saved enough money between them.

The months continued to roll passed them, and Merlin found it strange how easy it was settling back into life with Arthur. He began to relax into it, and he was even starting to feel like his old self. He no longer scoured the front page of the newspaper to see if any wars had broken out or if a mass number of people had died overnight. He stopped sleeping with one eye open, and he didn't look warily over his shoulder each time he heard footsteps behind him on the street. The old, wise voice in his head warned him that he was becoming too lax, and urged him to keep an eye out, but he made excuses and managed to convince himself that, when something did happen, he would be ready.

* * *

Merlin shut the front door behind him and shrugged out of his jacket. As he placed it on the rack, he heard the television on in the main room, and followed the sound towards Arthur, asleep on the sofa as the blue glow of the TV danced over him in the half-light. Merlin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, staring for a moment.

Disney's _Sword in the Stone_ was on, at the part when the small bright-eyed, blonde-haired cartoon Arthur was tugging the famed blade from the rock; and Merlin smiled softly at the memory of that day—how ready Arthur had become to lead. All it took was a sword, which was now displayed on the top of Arthur's dresser in his bedroom, only used for unneeded practice and walks down memory lane.

He slipped out of his shoes and padded towards Arthur, looking for the remote and locating it resting on the armrest under Arthur's hand. He attempted to nudge it forward gently, so he could turn off the television and let Arthur sleep, but the motion ended up rousing him. Arthur groaned and blinked Merlin into focus. A grin spread on Merlin's face.

"Bored by your own story?" he teased.

Arthur rubbed the tired from his eyes and sat up straighter. "An elaborate retelling of it," he grumbled groggily.

"_Right_," Merlin answered, stepping over Arthur's legs, which were resting on the coffee table, and plopping down on the next cushion. "Because coming back from the dead isn't _elaborate_ enough."

Arthur put his feet on the ground and leaned forward, his expression solemn as he stared blankly at the movie on the screen with his hands folded before his lips. It made Merlin's smile fall slowly as he watched him.

"No one really knows, do they?" Arthur said after a beat, as though it had finally just sunk in. "Camelot—you and I, my knights, everything. All the knowledge and all the technology of this world, and it's forgotten about us."

Merlin did not say that he'd rather it stay that way, especially when he thought of any alternative that was yet to come. Instead, he said, "That doesn't mean it wasn't important, Arthur. The world would have been different if not for you." He knew that for a fact.

"I understand it's the legacy that's important—everything we achieved," Arthur said. "I never cared about being remembered, but _this_ . . ." He turned his head to meet Merlin's eyes, which were now searching Arthur. "We're just caricatures. Children's stories."

Merlin took in a breath, remembering something he was once told. "Sometimes stories stick with people more than history ever could."

From the kitchen, the landline started ringing, breaking the silent pause between them; and for a moment they both ignored it. Then, Arthur turned his attention back to the television, not really seeing the moving images before him, picked up the remote, and flipped to the next channel.

"—missing persons, authorities still have no leads," the news anchor reported. "No recent statement has been issued by the MOD due to the calm following last year's scares and, when asked about the Prime Minister's lack of response to the situation, Downing Street offered no comment . . ."

Merlin lingered for only a second longer before forcing himself off the sofa and rushing to pick up the cordless phone.

"Uh, yeah? Hello, Merlin?" came a slightly familiar voice from the other end after Merlin greeted the caller. "This is John—John Watson. Sherlock's friend?"

"Oh, right, yeah," Merlin said, able to place a face to the name. "I remember. Hello, John."

"Sorry to phone so late in the evening," John said courteously. "But Sherlock's told me to. Listen, is there any way you can stop by his flat tomorrow?"

Merlin raised his brow in confusion. "Uh, sure. I—What for?"

"He says he has something you'll want to see," John said, and Merlin felt a lump catch in his throat.

He peered into the living room at Arthur, who had changed the channel again to a match and was now cheering loudly, and, just like that, Merlin knew the contented life he had so happily fallen into was over.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three.**

"I was starting to think you'd forgotten about us."

Two chairs had been set up in the middle of the room, evidentially brought in from the kitchen, and they made Merlin feel a bit like just another one of Sherlock's clients. He wasn't sure how the detective saw it, but he hoped this case would hold higher importance than any other on which Sherlock had been working. Admittedly, he didn't have much to go on, but Merlin and Arthur hadn't heard a word either way. After the killings died down, Merlin chose to take that as good news, but now, sitting in that chair with John at the desk nearby and Sherlock in the armchair across from him, he wasn't so sure.

"I told you I'd phone if the case progressed," Sherlock told him with a frown.

Next to Merlin, Arthur furrowed his brow. "No, you didn't."

"How's it progressed?" Merlin wondered, deciding it was best not agree with Arthur aloud, even though he was right.

Sherlock sat back in his leather seat and rested his arms on either side before saying, "Last week, we received a client who claimed her son, Timothy O'Brien, had gone missing one month ago. Nothing special—we've been getting quite a bit of those recently. But this was different. The person in question worked as an assistant for the Deputy Prime Minister's office in Whitehall."

"I thought that was only headquarters for the MOD?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, well, you're new," Sherlock told him airily, seeming only slightly perturbed that he'd been interrupted. "As I was saying, it interested me that someone so close to the heart of the government could go missing without the media causing a fuss. It made me question what other disappearances had been covered up—maybe more within the system. That question brought me to Timothy's last known whereabouts, his office, where I—"

He cleared his throat slightly.

"—artfully _gained entrance_ to the upper levels—"

John sat up a little straighter, his expression protesting the words.

"You stole your brother's access pass," he corrected, and Sherlock leaned forward and folded his palms in front of his lips, looking only slightly guilty despite Merlin's snigger of approval.

"Regardless," he dismissed, turning his attention back to the case. "It transpired that Timothy O'Brien wasn't the only person in Whitehall to disappear. There'd been others—mostly young men and women; interns, assistants, fresh-faced secretaries for cabinet members. But there were some deviations. While I was off searching for clues—Well, perhaps John should take it from here," he said, sitting up again and turning his head to John. "It's his story to tell."

Clearing his throat in preparation as the attention of the room shifted to him, John continued, "Right. Um . . . While Sherlock was off searching for clues, I was gathering information from some of the workers—"

"He was snooping," Sherlock said matter-of-factly with a catlike smirk.

"_No_, I was not snooping," John defended a little too quickly. "Anyway. I'd just gotten done chatting with one of the assistants that knew Timothy when I heard something from one of the conference rooms. It sounded like someone was hurt. I tried to get in, but the door was locked—but someone was in there, talking."

"Talking to who?" asked Merlin, only now realizing that he, too, was leaning forward in his seat as he listened.

John shrugged. "No one. I only heard one voice. Maybe a phone call? But—it's not just that. The person in the room, he sounded like—well, I'm _pretty certain—_it was the DPM."

Merlin jerked his head back in surprise. "What was he saying?"

"He was talking about the Prime Minister."

"He's missing," Sherlock told them.

"_Missing_?" Arthur exclaimed. "Just as the others are missing?"

"It's why he hadn't commented on the terror threats; why he hadn't been seen at conferences for months," Sherlock went on.

"That doesn't make sense. Why would they try to cover something like that up?" Merlin mused, shaking his head in thought.

"I wondered that myself," Sherlock said. "Until John told me of another peculiar detail he overheard. A name."

John nodded in agreement and said, "Morgana Pendragon."

And, for a moment, all Merlin could do was stare. He felt as though everything in the world had stopped, but the ticking of the clock on the wall served as a reminder that, somehow, time was progressing. He turned his head slowly to Arthur, whose jaw was clenched in controlled panic.

"She's dead," he said pointedly, and Merlin was glad Arthur had pointed that out, because his throat was too constricted to do so.

That name. That name did not belong here. It belonged buried in the forest, its bones turned to dust long ago. But that name could haunt.

"Dead like you're dead?" Sherlock countered with a raised brow, and Arthur had no response. "Whatever was meant by her name, it could be connected to this—," he reached into his pocket and tossed Merlin a small glass vial filled with a pale yellow powder, and Merlin forced himself back into the present and caught it clumsily between his hands.

"I found it in Timothy's cubicle while John was snooping."

"Ah—Gathering information."

Merlin uncorked the vial and sniffed the powder inside, and the stench burned his nostrils, making him turn away from it. Arthur snatched the glass from him and did the same.

"_What _is that?" he gasped, holding his nose and thrusting the vial back at Merlin, whose nose was still spoiled by the lingering stink of decay.

"Sulfur," he said in realization before turning back to Sherlock. "Demons."

"Which I still think is ridiculous, by the way," John managed to get his two cents in. Merlin's eyes flickered to him only briefly before looking back at Sherlock.

"Since my last encounter, I've been absorbing any information I can find on the subject," Sherlock ensured him. "But there's only so much one can do without experience." He sighed. "Unfortunately, we'll have to bring in experts."

Merlin couldn't agree more.

"Can you get in touch with the Winchesters?" he asked.

"Hold on, Winchesters? Dean and Sam?" John asked, and Sherlock's brow knitted together as he turned towards him.

"You know them?"

"I've met Dean," John told him, and Sherlock pulled a face. "He came here a few years back looking for you. His brother went missing. He said it was because of—"

"The Weeping Angels," Merlin finished for him, remembering. "Did he leave a number?"

John shook his head.

"What about Castiel, then?" Merlin tried next. "Have you called for him?"

Sherlock hummed in response. "Though, he doesn't seem to be answering."

"Nor for me." He didn't want to think about what that could mean. "I hoped maybe you'd have better luck."

Sherlock looked confused at this. "And why's that?"

"Because you two were close," Merlin answered as though it were obvious.

"Close?" John asked, flabbergasted, and there was only a hint of jealousy in his voice. "_Sherlock_? To who?"

In front of Merlin, Sherlock shot up into a better posture, appearing to be listening intently to something. It piqued Merlin's interest and, as he strained his ears, he heard the main door of 221B close softly. Footsteps followed, advancing up the creaking steps.

"Have you brought someone else with you?" Sherlock asked him.

Merlin shook his head, and all eyes turned towards the door expectantly. Merlin felt a rising sense of dread in his gut with every footfall. As it turned out, his trepidation was justified.

Through the flat's door entered a middle-aged man in a sharp suit and polished black shoes, holding a closed umbrella in his left hand despite the sunny day outside Baker Street's windows. He surveyed each face in the room like a wolf might judge what's suitable for prey, a smug smirk playing on his round features.

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Didn't I tell Mrs. Hudson to put up a _no incommodious solicitors_ sign out front?"

Mycroft hummed an amused laugh. "Perhaps a _beware of dog_ sign might do the trick?" he answered in a droll tone, turning his eyes to John, who didn't look amused at all.

"But I'm afraid I'm not making a social call today, Sherlock," Mycroft continued. "I wonder if I could get a moment alone with these gentlemen?" He looked to Merlin and Arthur with an air of apathy. "It seems we meet again, Emrys."

If Merlin's gaze could burn through flesh—Ah, but it _could_, and once he realized that, he had half a mind to let it.

"Hello, Mycroft," he said scathingly instead.

"You—You two know each other?" John stammered.

"I had the pleasure of meeting him once before many years ago," Mycroft answered, and Merlin scoffed.

"Pleasure, yes. That's the word I'd use, too."

He stood up, wanting to make himself as tall as possible. Arthur got out of his chair, too, reading the situation with concerned patience and looking as though he was ready to jump to defense at any moment. Merlin could almost feel Arthur's tension in the space between them.

"The British government has known about him since the mid-1400s," Mycroft explained. "He'd once been quite close to the royal family."

"I had to be," Merlin told Arthur innocuously. "I didn't know how you'd come back—if you were to be born again somewhere down the line. I had to keep an eye on the royals."

"As if we'd let you get that close anymore," Mycroft said with hints of amusement.

Merlin turned back to him with a challenging expression. "As if I'd let you stop me."

Mycroft's smile grew, and he took a few more steps into the room, making himself at home. "Yes, you've become quite good at slipping under our radar."

"Years of practice," Merlin answered shortly. "And, frankly, I find you annoying." Then something dawned on him: "Wait, how did you find me _now_?"

"It seems you aren't as thorough as you'd imagine," was the response. "In mid-November of last year, there was a large electrical event that left a great portion of Southern England without power for a number of hours, leaving all the technicians scratching their heads in wonder as to what caused it. We couldn't simply ignore it, not with all the events of last year. It took a matter of minutes to locate the source of the disturbance, narrowed down to one small village.

"Later that day, two train tickets were purchased from said village to King's Cross station and—well, I'm sure you're quite aware of London's CCTV network," he went on, and Merlin made sure to keep his expression even and disinterested. "We followed your progression to two-hundred and twenty-one B where, only yesterday, a phone call was made to your landline, in which John Watson made the mistake of using your real name, telling you to come here."

John straightened up in his chair, looking outraged. "You _bugged_ by mobile?"

"Settle down, John, and don't flatter yourself," Mycroft told him. "Your life is of little interest to me. I just needed information of Mr. Smith's whereabouts."

"Actually, it's doctor," said Merlin.

"My mistake," Mycroft said cordially with a slight bow of his head.

"And the taxpayers' money is being used to chase after fairytales?" John said with a nod. "Good to know the government doesn't have anything better to do."

"There are few individuals in the know," Mycroft said vaguely.

Wanting to get back on topic, Merlin asked, "Why look for me now? Need my help with the terrorists?"

Mycroft snorted. "Hardly."

"He wouldn't ask revolutionaries for help catching terrorists," Sherlock piped up from his spot, still sitting in his chair. He was leaned back again, his elbows on the armrest and his fingers steepled in front of him.

"Revolutionaries? What is he talking about?" Arthur asked Merlin.

"The government's weakened," Sherlock went on. "The Prime Minister's missing."

"Ah, I wondered when you'd figure out that little tidbit," Mycroft said. "You're getting slow."

"So are you. You haven't found him yet."

"In due time, brother mine. I assure you certain tactics are being employed."

"More than have been employed for finding the missing civilians?"

"Well, the Prime Minister is of higher priority," Mycroft excused. "You understand."

Sherlock shrugged and pulled a face in agreement, but Arthur let out a mutinous sound.

"I do _not_!" he yelled. "I don't care who he is, one man does not take precedence over countless others. How large is the count now? Last I checked, it was in the hundreds, but I see now you've been withholding certain cases—"

"Which brings me to why I'm here," Mycroft cut him off, making Arthur bristle. "Mr. Pendragon, if you would accompany me back to my office?"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but Merlin beat him to it.

"He's not going anywhere with you."

Mycroft simply rolled his eyes and tried again. "Mr. Pendragon—"

"Don't talk to him," Merlin demanded curtly.

"I only need to ask him a few questions," Mycroft said innocently.

"_Questions_?" Merlin laughed warningly, and he could feel his magic bubbling to the surface as his heart began to race and his skin flushed in anger that he quickly controlled. "Is that right? And these questions wouldn't happen to involve vivisection again, would they? No. He's not going, and those half-dozen men with guns you have waiting outside should be very careful about their next move. That goes double for you, _Mr. Holmes_."

Merlin hardly expected Sherlock to ever diffuse a situation, but he did so by leaping to his feet and pacing in between Merlin and Arthur and Mycroft.

"What inquiries do you have for him?" Sherlock asked calmly.

"I told you, tactics to find the Prime Minister are being employed," said Mycroft, seeming unfazed by the recent warning.

"And you think they have him?" Sherlock asked mockingly. "Where exactly are they keeping him? In the basement? Making him live off crisps and reality telly?"

"We take threats of a revolution very seriously," Mycroft countered. "The Once and Future King, as the legends say."

"I'm not interested in revolution," Arthur said suddenly, pushing his way passed Merlin despite Merlin's attempts to keep him back. However, he walked right up to Mycroft. "My _only_ concern is making sure the people of this land are secure—_all_ of them. Although, all you seem to do is pool your efforts into finding one man. If you refuse to ensure their safety—"

"You will?" Mycroft asked with suspicion.

Arthur squared his shoulders nobly. "If I must," he said. "Keep the throne—I don't care. But, if I can aid these people in any way—"

"Arthur, no—," Merlin urged, but it was too late.

"—I will come with you."

"Arthur—"

"Shut up, Merlin."

"You should listen to him," Sherlock advised, and Mycroft hardly seemed shocked by the betrayal. "You wouldn't know what you're getting yourself into. None of us do anymore, and I doubt we have the time to figure it out."

"I agree," said Merlin hotly. "Something's coming. It's been coming for _years_. We are _not_ the enemy, Mycroft. You need to warn the Queen. Get her—get _all of them_—out of here."

"You expect me to fall for that?" Mycroft asked, making Merlin groan.

"No—stop. Listen to me," he said, pacing to Arthur's side. "I'm going to say something—and you will know I am serious. Mycroft . . . We're going to need _him_."

There was a pause into which Mycroft only blinked at Merlin in something close to surprise, if his face could contort into such an expression.

"I'm afraid I don't know whom you mean," he then lied.

"Yes, you do," Merlin told him. "You've known about him for almost as long as you have about me."

"Even so," Mycroft said carefully, "what makes you think I have ways of reaching him?"

"Sorry, who's _he_?" John asked from his forgotten corner of the room, emphasizing the last word with dramatic ambiguity.

"The Doctor," Sherlock answered for them. "Obviously."

"Oh, is that all?" John asked under his breath, seeming let down. "Thought it'd be someone a little less anticlimactic."

"If you need to get in touch with the Doctor, you could have just asked," Sherlock continued, pacing towards the desk and picking up his mobile.

Merlin blinked after him. "_You_ can get in touch with the Doctor?" he asked, dumbfounded. "I've been trying to get in touch with the Doctor for seventy-five years and you have his _mobile number_?"

"Uh—Yeah," Sherlock said nonchalantly as he typed out a text message.

"That's classified information," Mycroft told him. "Why would you keep that from me?"

"And deprive myself of this moment?" Sherlock teased with a crooked smirk. "_Never_."

The wind seemed to pick up out of nowhere, but Merlin knew better than to search for an open window, and it wasn't long before the noise followed: The sound of engines grating and roaring and hissing. Merlin closed his eyes for a moment and let the sound take him over—the sound of the universe, all of space and time converging and opening in one spot. It had been so long since he'd heard it, and it was still as beautiful as he could remember.

However, the others in the room didn't seem to share in his reverie.

At his side, Arthur had tensed up and was looking wildly around for the source of the sound. He appeared as though he didn't know whether to be alarmed or accepting that this was just something that happened in this century. Merlin wanted to tell him that this was something that happened in _every _century, but only rarely—only if you were very lucky or very unfortunate, depending on which way you looked at it.

Meanwhile, John was yelling. "How many times!" He threw his arms up in defeat. "'Don't land in the flat.' We tell him _every time_! Oh, Mrs. Hudson is going to be livid at the mess." He frowned at the state of the flat as the blue wood of the Tardis began fading in and out of existence. Loose papers were scattering, furniture was toppling over, and dishes rattled and fell from the kitchen counter. Just as all damage possible could be done, the noise and wind subsided and the door creaked open to reveal a brunette head of hair . . .

But not the brunette they were expecting at first.

"Well, well, if it isn't the honorable Dr. Watson," Clara said, a smirk turning up the corners of her lips. She stepped fully out of the doorway and slid her hand up the side of Tardis, leaning against the frame.

Then the Doctor's head popped out, his manic eyes quickly clocking everyone and everything in the room. "And _both_ the Holmes boys!" he said, snapping and pointing at both brothers exuberantly, as he exited the ship. He turned to John. "Who's winning today's argument?"

John shrugged and blew out his cheeks, indicating that he had no idea; but Sherlock straightened out a bit and folded his arms behind his back, ready to claim his prize as winner.

The Doctor didn't seemed to notice this, however, as his eyes caught Merlin's.

"Merlin! How long's it _been_?" he said excitedly, almost lyrically, as he walked over, grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, and kissed both his cheeks. This took Merlin aback for a bemused and stuttering moment before the Doctor wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace.

They clapped each other on the back a few times. "Doctor, you're a sight for sore eyes!" The hug broke and they got a good look at each other. "And still unchanged, I see?"

"Ah, you should talk," the Doctor answered, pinching Merlin's cheek quickly before patting it gently.

Merlin grinned towards Clara. "And, Clara, always a pleasure to see you," he said, taking the hand he was offered and kissing it.

"Oh, Merlin, I _do_ suppose it is," she said playfully.

Meanwhile, the Doctor pointed at Arthur gleefully. "And, look who it is! Man of the hour. Really you this time, Arthur?"

Arthur stammered for a moment, clearly at a loss with everything that was going on. "Uh, yes . . . Yes."

But the Doctor was already looking back at Merlin. "Good on you, mate," he said genuinely.

Merlin caught Arthur's eyes and smiled softly.

"Yes, if you're all quite finished," Mycroft said from the doorway, and they all turned to face him. "Do get the Doctor caught up while I make sure her Majesty is brought to a safe location. I'll just tell her the entirety of the British Ghostbusters is in town. That should have her running to the furthest corner of the world in no time."

Without further ado, he lifted the tip of his umbrella from the floor and swung it lazily at his side as he saw himself out. Merlin was glad to see him go, and even happier to see him being complacent.

As John made tea and attempted to tidy up the kitchen, the group got the Doctor and Clara up to speed on what was going on, and neither of them spoke until Merlin and Sherlock were finished telling their side of the story. Finally, the Doctor knocked back the rest of his tea, slapped his palms onto his knees, and burst out of his chair.

"Sounds like what we need right now is a plan—and a good one," he was saying, but his hand was fishing his jacket pocket, and he took out the key to the Tardis and shoved it into the lock. "We'll all have to stick together on this one, that's for sure." He opened the door and disappeared into the box.

Just before the door closed, Arthur wrinkled his nose in confusion and shouted, "Where are you _going_?"

To this, the Doctor stuck his head out of the doors once more and stared at Arthur.

"You'll need your knights, won't you?" he said simply, and closed the door fully. A moment later, the roar of the Tardis kicked up again.

Arthur blanched, trying to figure out what just happened.

* * *

High beams flared over the top of the hill on the dark, deserted country highway, and the man behind the steering wheel caught sight of the torn and weather-beaten billboard in the stream of the headlights. It read in big capital letters, _Donate Blood: Give the Gift of Life_. He nudged the breaks and quietly turned onto the bumpy dirt road on the other side of the billboard, until finally the Impala's headlights hit a partially boarded up warehouse a quarter of a mile down the road. Muffled screaming could be heard from the broken windows of the first floor.

Sam took the key out of the ignition, stepped out of the driver's side, and headed towards the door of the old factory. Once inside, he turned on his flashlight and followed the trail of rain soaked litter and rodents down the corridor. The screams became louder with each step. Eventually, he reached the broken down production floor of the warehouse and scanned his surroundings.

A man was tied up on a chair in the center of the room, a large devil's trap painted in red beneath his feet. His hair was drenched with holy water, and his biceps were bleeding a color that matched that on the glistening blade in Dean's hand as he stood over him.

"Last chance, sunshine," Dean told the demon, and Sam saw how dark his brother's eyes were in the moonlight that streamed in from the high windows. "We know you're not workin' for Abaddon—and you're _definitely_ not workin' for Crowley. Give us a name and we can all walk outta here."

Despite his pain, the demon's bitter laugh echoed against the concrete walls. "Go to Hell, Winchester."

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. "Fair enough," he said with a shrug, and then he plunged the knife into the demon's abdomen. With one last scream, an amber light shined in the demon's eyes and made his skin glow transparent, and the body slackened when the light died away.

"That's the fifth one this week, Dean," Sam told him, walking fully into the room and grabbing Dean's attention. "We're never gonna get anywhere if we keep killing them."

"We'll never get anywhere if we _don't_," Dean argued, wiping the blade on his jacket. "Think of it as a warning."

"Yeah, but it's not like we can hang the bodies in the town square," Sam countered. "Kinda a sucky warning."

"Word'll spread," Dean said surely. "I mean, it better. This past month . . . I haven't seen this many demons since the Hell Gate got opened—one of them's bound to spill the beans eventually." Dean shook his head in wonder. "Where the hell are they all comin' from?"

Sam shrugged and answered sarcastically, "Hell, probably."

Dean looked at him with annoyance and was about to answer, but his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that was followed shortly by the loud booming of machinery. For a moment, Sam thought the unused equipment in the factory had somehow sprung to life, and he instinctually prepared himself for a fight.

That was until he saw a light begin flashing in the center of the room, and a large blue box faded in and out beneath it. Sam gaped at it.

"Ah, _crap_," Dean hissed loudly, and the Tardis became solid.

Not a moment later, the door of the ship creaked open and a familiar head popped out of the opening. The Doctor beamed at them like a seven year old.

"The last Knights of Camelot," he sang, and Dean and Sam squared their shoulders at the words. "I have a king in need of your help."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four.**

Sam followed Dean and the Doctor up the stairs and into the flat. He and Dean nodded a silent greeting to everyone in turn, until he finally locked eyes with Merlin, sitting on the arm of the cushioned chair Arthur was occupying.

"Hey, Merlin," Sam greeted, hardly able to help the smile that curved his lips. For whatever reason, seeing Merlin had a calming affect on Sam, and he swore standing next to the sorcerer could lower anyone's blood pressure. It comforted him that, despite his years, Merlin looked exactly the same as he did the last time Sam saw him. In fact, if it were possible, he looked younger. Sam guessed immortality had its perks.

"Hello, Sam," was what Sam got in return, accompanied by a fond smile. However, as he looked at Sam more closely, Merlin's expression soon dropped into an incredulous look that Sam couldn't quite read.

"Alright, what are we doin' here?" Dean asked without any further pleasantries.

"Giving your expertise," Sherlock said, holding up the vial of sulfur.

Dean crossed the room, snatched it from Sherlock's hands, and turned the vial over in his palm. "Demons," he confirmed. "We got that. You found it in some government building, so the Doc says." He tossed the vial up in the air and Sherlock caught it coolly. "Tell me somethin' I don't know."

"For that, we'd be here all day," Sherlock told him, and Dean tensed defensively as he took a heated step closer again and pointed an accusatory finger.

"Alright, you know _what_—"

"_Dean_," Clara ordered with a raised brow, diffusing the situation immediately.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean said, bristling as he glared down at Sherlock, but he must have decided it wasn't worth it because he stalked away and stood next to Sam.

"So, we're really going with the demon business?" John said, pulling a face as he jotted something down in a notepad. "Alright, then."

"If we are, we have to assume they're on the same team as the demons from Lawrence," the Doctor speculated. "Sherlock, you said they were recruiting. What have you found out about the attacks on London?"

"You think that could be their end game?" Sam asked.

"Or it could be building up to something," Merlin offered ominously.

"That's a cheerful thought," said Dean.

"Right now, I have no proof the two are connected," Sherlock told the Doctor, "but the timing is suspicious. But, whoever they are, they want England fearful—right under their thumb."

"And the Prime Minister going missing is a good way to cause panic, once the news gets out," said Clara. "It doesn't have to be all planting bombs, does it?"

"Not at all," agreed the Doctor. He looked back at Sherlock. "Could you get an interview with one of the attackers?"

"Belmarsh should be holding a few," was the answer. "Shouldn't be a problem. I have a number of guards there who owe me favors."

"Will we be going with him?" Arthur asked the Doctor. "I should like to speak with these men and women myself."

"We've got something else to do," the Doctor said, spinning around to face him. "We need to retrace our steps—go back to the source."

"Avalon," Merlin guessed. "What do you plan on finding there?"

"Don't know yet. But, if Arthur found his way back from there, maybe his sister has, too—or she still might." He spun around again on his heels to face the rest of the group. "Why are we all still here? Let's get moving! Chop-chop!"

"No," Sherlock said decisively. "Not yet. I'll need someone else—other than John. But he's still coming with me." Sherlock looked to his side at John and asked, "You're coming with me?"

John blinked in perplexity. "Yes, but—"

"Good," Sherlock said, disinterested in the rest of the statement. "And I'll need Castiel."

Sam furrowed his brow at the request as Sherlock stood up from his chair and plucked his coat from the back of it.

"Uh—," Dean was stuttering, probably just as thrown as Sam was. "What for?"

"I can make as many inquiries as I please, but we're working off the assumption that these men and women were possessed during their attempts," Sherlock droned as he flung his coat over himself and slipped into it.

"Yeah, _were_," Dean emphasized, making Sam direct his confusion towards him. He seemed guarded and Sam wasn't sure why.

"And Castiel can confirm that," Sherlock argued. "He knows the signs."

"So do we," said Dean. "Take me or Sammy with you."

"We might need you at Avalon," the Doctor cut in.

Dean made a frustrated noise from his throat, licked his lips, and his eyes flashed to Sam's for only a moment.

"Even so," Sherlock said, "what if they're still possessed and the parasite is lying dormant? Castiel can see that—I cannot. Neither can you."

"Take the kid, then," Dean yelled, thrusting a hand in Merlin's direction.

"No—what? I can't see demons," Merlin said, pointing a finger back. "And why are you still calling me _kid_?"

"Okay—fine, but Cas can't anymore, either, alright?" Dean conceded, dropping his shoulders in a sigh. "He's human now."

"He's _what_?" Clara asked, shocked.

"What was he before?" John muttered simultaneously.

"How?" demanded Sherlock at the same moment.

"When the angels fell," the Doctor said. "He was part of that?"

"Kinda," Sam decided on, not giving too much detail away, before explaining further, "You know that meteor shower last year? Yeah, it wasn't a meteor shower."

"Of course, it wasn't. It was worldwide," Sherlock snipped.

"And the meteors were people," Merlin said, shaking his head. "Why did no one point that out?"

"Okay, but still," Sam said, turning to Dean with big eyes. "Dean. It's _Cas_. He'd be pissed if he found out we didn't let him in on this one. He should be here, don't ya think?"

Dean let out a few more unsure sounds, seemingly thinking, before swiping his hands through the air in front of him in finality. "No. No way. Let him live his apple pie life."

Across the room, Sherlock was surveying Dean with narrowed eyes. "Why don't you want him here?" he asked abruptly.

"Excuse me?" Dean snapped as Sherlock paced closer.

"Increased breathing rate—signifies a racing heart; enlarged pupils; strained tone of voice—," he reached to Dean's side and snatched his wrist, holding his hand up before Dean quickly withdrew it, "—sweaty palms. All signs of nervousness—No. _Fear_. You're afraid of Castiel coming here. Why?"

Sam jerked his head back in bewilderment, keeping his eyes locked on Dean's face for some sign of a crack in the mask. Dean tensed and thinned his lips, and his eyes flashed to meet Sam's again before he quickly looked away.

"Believe me, I want him here," he defended, staring Sherlock down.

"Then what's the problem?" Sherlock challenged.

Dean's jaw muscles tightened and he let out a heavy breath through his nose, but he said in frustration, "Fine. Go get 'em. Rexburg, Idaho."

"I'm on it," the Doctor said, fishing for the Tardis key again. "I'll fill him in and bring him straight to Belmarsh. The rest of you, I'll meet you at the lake. Sherlock, John—find us there once you're done with the interviews. Clara's in charge while I'm away."

Clara smirked smugly and bounced slightly as the attention of the room shifted to her.

"Why her?" Arthur asked with a crinkled nose.

The Doctor stuck his head back into the doorway of the flat and said, "Because all the rest of you do is argue."

"I've got lots of experience dealing with children—nannying, teaching," Clara told them proudly. "You lot should be easy."

* * *

Patrick Lewis looked nothing like a class A criminal, much less a terrorist. He was middle-aged with a beer belly that made his bright orange inmate uniform tight across the middle, and he had a nervous tick in his left hand, making him subconsciously attempt to lift it and run it through what little hair he had left. Unfortunately, the handcuffs retraining his wrists to the table made it impossible to do so. He wasn't yet accustomed to life in a penitentiary, and Sherlock very much doubted Patrick ever foresaw it as part of his future. Yet again, no one ever did.

"I know I did a bad thing—er, _tried_ to, anyway," he was saying, again attempting to lift his hand before looking down at the handcuffs in frustration. "I'm just 'appy I didn't."

As Patrick shook his head in genuine regret, Sherlock looked at the man directly to his right. He looked almost exactly the same as he had on their last meeting: clean-shaven, stoic and attentive with an almost perpetual expression of mild confusion for the world around him, and all around put-together despite the dirty clothes he sported. Except, instead of a trench coat and a suit, Castiel was in a bright blue cashier's uniform, and something in his posture hinted at fatigue. He looked so—

_Human_.

"Yes, Mr. Lewis, we're all relieved your plans for mass murder fell through," Sherlock said, turning his gaze back on Patrick. "But premeditation is, unfortunately for you, a punishable crime."

"I know that, Mr. 'olmes," said Patrick. He looked at the security camera in the corner of the wall and leaned in closer to the center of the table. "But it wasn't premeditated. I didn't 'ave any plan to do it."

Castiel narrowed his eyes in question. "Then why do it?"

Patrick shook his head. "Wish I knew."

Sherlock folded his hands on top of the table and leaned in to meet him. "What do you remember of that day, Mr. Lewis?" he asked. "You said the rifle belonged to you—"

"Ah, no, it was my father's," Patrick interrupted innocently. "'e used to hunt deer on the weekends. Just passed to me after 'e died—kept it up in the attic. Didn't want the girls gettin' into it."

"Quite," Sherlock said, wanting to get back to matters. "But do you remember retrieving the rifle? The drive towards city hall—what was it like? If you can't remember making a conscious decision to attack, what _can_ you remember?"

He expected Patrick to say he remembered nothing. After all, most demon possessions were like a blackout for the host. It was very unlikely that Patrick was awake during the events and, if he were, he would have pleaded an entirely different case and been sent to an asylum instead of a prison.

So Sherlock was slightly taken aback when Patrick looked at him in perplexity and said, "I remember all of it—clear as day. And I never said I didn't make the decision to do it. I did. Just got the idea in my 'ead and couldn't stop thinking about it, really." Patrick shook his head in regret once more. "You know what I was doing that morning? Making my daughters breakfast before school—bacon and eggs. Put them on the bus and then fetched dad's old rifle, got in my car, and didn't stop driving until I reached city hall. I remember every second, Mr. 'olmes, just don't remember my reason. Just seemed like a good idea at the time."

Sherlock wrinkled his brow in contemplation and turned his head away from Patrick and back to Castiel, who met his gaze with an unreadable expression that told Sherlock he, too, didn't know what to make of the story.

* * *

The Tardis couldn't materialize on the Isle of Avalon, but the Doctor had locked away in the ship an old, battered canoe, supposedly from a trip to the Amazon—or the Nile. Dean wasn't sure. The Doctor spoke so quickly sometimes that it was difficult to keep up. Nonetheless, Merlin and Arthur ran up the hill to retrieve Excalibur before the group paddled across the lake to the opposite banks and trudged up towards the tower, now half its height and crumbled to ruins since their last visit. They descended down the dark steps with flaming torches in hand.

"Where'd all the treasure go?" Dean thought aloud when they reached the antechamber inside the tower. That room had been filled with gold, ancient books, and silks from all over the world. However, it now housed thick layers of dust and cobwebs.

"Bandits, probably. I'm sure there hasn't been anything here for ages," the Doctor said, running his hand over the alter in the room and causing the dust to swirl. In the darkness, someone coughed. "That was a parallel world, remember?"

"Yeah, wish I didn't," Dean grumbled.

"Shame," said Clara, who was inspecting the shelves that once held various jewels and metals. "You looked good in a crown, Dean."

Dean smirked slightly, but he couldn't fully enjoy the compliment, because the Doctor found the lock in the wall. Arthur slid his sword into it and the wall moved aside, revealing the stairwell into the tomb.

"Never thought I'd have to see this again," Merlin muttered as the Doctor picked up a torch from the wall, brushed the webs off, and touched it to the flame Arthur was holding.

"Never thought I'd see this at all," Arthur countered, and Dean noticed his expression was set and tense in the half-light. "It isn't every day a person visits their own grave."

"Oh, I don't know," Clara said, moving passed the group to start down the stairs. She pointed a thumb at the Doctor as she passed him. "He's done it."

As they descended the steps, Dean heard a soft, familiar grunt of pain from behind him. He looked over his shoulder to find Sam, still at the top of the steps, pinching the bridge of his nose and rattling his head.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, feeling his stomach drop in worry. "You alright?"

"Uh—yeah," Sam said, shaking his head one more time and lowering his hand. "Just have a headache coming on, I guess."

"You sure?"

Sam snorted. "Yeah, Dean. Pretty sure," he said lightly, and he looked behind Dean at the fading glow of the torches as the others descended. "Come on. We better catch up."

He bounced passed Dean towards the others, and Dean turned back around to watch him but lingered for a moment longer. He didn't like any of this. It was only a matter of time until Zeke took over and told Dean that either Cas left or he did. He didn't know how he could justify benching Cas on this one. Every excuse he came up with seemed lame, and half of him considered telling the Doctor the truth to at least have someone on his side.

Maybe the Doctor would get angry, but Clara at least would understand. Dean was sure of that.

But, for now, it was better to keep that secret to himself. After all, Cas was still in London, miles away from Sam or Zeke, and Dean would just have to wait this one out.

He followed Sam downwards and met up with the others at the bottom of the staircase. Once there, he took a sweeping look around the room. It looked exactly as it did in the parallel universe, down to the wooden throne on the other end of the circle. Arthur had already gone up to it and run his palms along the back tenderly.

"We don't have room for it, Arthur," Merlin was telling him, his voice bouncing off the walls.

"We could get rid of that horrible moth-ridden thing next to the sofa," Arthur argued. "Honestly, Merlin. It's falling apart."

"Yeah, so will this if we try to move it," Merlin shot back. "I'm surprised it hasn't decayed by now. And good luck fitting it into the boat."

"_Mer_lin!"

"Both of you!" the Doctor shouted over them. "We're not here to go antique shopping!"

Arthur looked offended, but he dropped the subject as the Doctor made his way over to the stone coffin in the center of the room.

Meanwhile, Sam was looking around for something on the floor.

"Hey, where's that other sword?" he asked Merlin. "The one you left for Sherlock? Isn't it supposed to be here?"

"Hang on, you _kept_ that all those years?" said Clara, who had sat down on one of the stone seats in the circle and crossed her legs, looking as though she were lounging. "For what? Memorabilia?"

"Hardly," Merlin said. "It was Mordred's." He looked around, too, seeming confused. "I'm not sure where it's gone."

"Maybe bandits again?" Dean offered.

"But this room was sealed off."

Dean barely listened to what Merlin said, as he noticed Sam rub at his eyes and shake away pain again.

"Someone bring a torch over," the Doctor called suddenly, and Clara hopped up from her seat to oblige.

As she held the light before him, the Doctor was crouched over the side of the coffin, and the illumination revealed that the lid had slid open a few inches from the top.

"It's open," Clara voiced in shock, and the others stopped what they were doing to gather around.

"It can't be," Merlin said. "I found Arthur in the water, not here."

"Yeah, and he couldn't'a opened it, right?" Sam said. "I mean, remember Merlin tried to last time? It was too heavy. You'd need a lot of strength."

"Demon could do it," Dean said.

"What, you think one of them broke in to see if there was still a body?" asked Clara.

"Could be."

"No, this place is warded against everything—especially demons," Merlin told them, and Dean's eyes flickered to Sam, whose sudden pain made sense. If the tomb was warded against angels, it had to have an effect on a dormant one. Dean didn't know what that effect would be long-term, but he didn't want to find out.

Hoping to speed up the process, he turned to the Doctor, who was ghosting the sonic screwdriver over the top of the coffin.

"Anythin'?" he asked.

"No traces of anything demonic or otherwise," the Doctor reported. He glanced up at Arthur. "What do you remember from before waking up?"

Arthur's jaw tensed as a reaction, but only slightly and only for a moment.

"Nothing," he answered, sounding almost too sure of himself, Dean thought.

"Really?" the Doctor asked, straightening out. "No bright lights?"

"Like Heaven?" Clara asked skeptically.

"Not exactly," the Doctor corrected. "But there was a light that hit the coffin last time we were here. I think that might have jump-started Arthur's resurrection."

"But he came back months after that," Merlin reminded the Doctor.

"Yeah, but time's different than it is here on Earth. Maybe it's like, uh—," Sam said, stuttering slightly as he shook out his head and powered through. "Like, one year here is longer in Hell. Could be shorter in Limbo."

Arthur looked down at the dragon emblem carved into the lid and ran his hand across it, taking away dust. "Perhaps," he said under his breath.

"Doc, what does this have to do with anythin'?" Dean said, trying to force patience into his voice. It wasn't working.

"Just trying to rule everything out," was the answer. "We have an empty tomb that's open, but wasn't open_ed_—not by Arthur, and not by a demon."

"So?"

"So," the Doctor said thoughtfully. "What if we're not just dealing with demons?"

Dean cast his eyes back down at the coffin between them, trying to piece together what the Doctor could mean.

"What else?" he asked when he came up with nothing.

However, the Doctor didn't answer him. Instead, he placed his palms on the top of the coffin, leaned into them, and stared into space, thinking.

"Silence will fall when the Once and Future King rises," he said, sotto voce.

"Wait, I've heard that before," Clara said.

"We all have," Merlin agreed. "Doctor, what does it mean?"

There was a beat before the Doctor seemed to knock himself out of his thoughts and jumped away from the coffin with renewed energy.

"It _means_," he said, "let's get back across the lake and see what Sherlock's found."

He crossed the room and started bouncing up the stairs, leaving the others to exchange either foreboding or annoyed looks.

"I hate it when he does that," Merlin voiced for them all.

"Try putting up with it on a daily basis," Clara agreed, and they all followed in the Doctor's wake.

Dean kept his eyes on Sam until they once again reached the sunlight.

* * *

"Listen, I just wanted to tell you I might not make it in tonight," John said into the receiver, mentally preparing himself for the slew of questions that were bound to come after a statement such as that one. After all, married men—especially newly married men—weren't supposed to say things like that.

However, a laugh sounded from the other end of the call.

"Got a big case, then?" Mary asked, not sounding perturbed at all.

"Uh—yeah. I think so," answered John, shaking his head in attempt to recover. He walked up to the high fence separating the walkway from the large football field, in which a few inmates were currently holding practice, and laced his fingers through the mesh wiring. "But it's taking us outside London. I might not get back 'til tomorrow."

"Anything I can do from here?"

"No, just—you rest."

Mary snorted another laugh.

"I'm not _ill_, for god's sake! I can still go out and live my life, can't I?" she defended. "I'm at the office now, and I haven't needed a break all day. Ate lunch at my desk and all. So, let me know if I can help. Go on. What's the case?"

John gave a long sigh of defeat.

"Honestly? No idea," he admitted. "Really—your guess is as good as mine. I feel like I've had one too many, actually."

Behind him, he heard the doors of the main building open up, and he looked over his shoulder to find Sherlock and Castiel jouncing down the steps in his direction.

"You two aren't drunk on the job again, are you?" Mary mock-scolded, bringing him back to the conversation.

"What? No, no—I'm not," he promised quickly, wanting to get in a few more words before their privacy was interrupted. "Just—Mary, do me a favor and keep an eye on the news? Make sure you get home right after work and—if you hear anything—anything at all—stay inside."

There was a heavy pause on the other end, long enough for John to wonder if the call was dropped. He was just about to remove his mobile from his ear to check his service when Mary said, "John?"

She sounded worried.

"Is something wrong?"

"No!" he assured her, but it wasn't very convincing. He wasn't convinced himself. "No, it's fine," he tried again.

At that moment, Sherlock and Cas caught up with him next to the fence.

"Who's that?" Sherlock demanded.

John made a soft noise from his throat, about to answer, as Mary asked, "Is that Sherlock? Put him on."

Knowing she wouldn't take no for an answer, he dropped the mobile from his ear and offered it to Sherlock. "It's Mary. She wants to talk to you."

Without hesitation, Sherlock relieved him of the phone.

"Yes?"

John heard a soft murmuring from the receiver, but it wasn't loud enough to form proper words, and it was being drowned out by the shouts from the men on the football field and the wind whipping around the buildings.

"Of course not. No need to worry," Sherlock said, looking straight ahead as he spoke. "I'll have him home by breakfast tomorrow." He looked at Castiel and gave a wink, which Cas only narrowed his eyes at.

John tried to take his attention off what Mary might have been saying by looking at Castiel, too, but he found his presence strangely unnerving. He knew Castiel couldn't hear the phone conversation either, but there was something about his being there that felt like an invasion of privacy. Then John remembered what Dean had said earlier about Castiel now being human, which only unsettled John more, but he tried not to show it.

Suddenly, John felt someone watching him, and he glanced back up to find Sherlock was no longer looking through him, but directly at him.

"Yes, I did promise that," he said in a graver tone than before. "I'll see to it."

Seconds later, he ended the call and tossed the phone back to John.

"She sends her love," he said shortly.

"What did she say?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "I just told you. And why would you tell her to stay indoors? Do you really think she'd do that?"

John groaned and threw back his head. "Sherlock, she's _pregnant_!"

Sherlock let out a soft breath through his nose, dropping his usual aloof demeanor. "I know. If it makes you feel better, I'll contact Lestrade and tell him look out for her."

The promise made John feel better, but only just.

"Now, what have you determined from the files? Or have you been chatting with your wife this entire time?"

John shot him an unamused glare. While Sherlock and Castiel were interviewing Patrick, John had looked through the files of two other inmates involved in the previous year's attacks, both of who had been transferred to other facilities.

"No, _smartarse_," he said. "But there wasn't much to look at. You said look for anything unusual—which, by the way, wasn't very clear. But they were just ordinary people who got up one day and decided to kill. Full confessions, the both of them."

"Did they describe the details of the attack in their confessions?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "Yup. And, before I phoned Mary, I got off the line with a guard from Bronzefield in Surrey. They had a girl who killed three people with a knife during a school trip to Windsor Castle."

"Did you get to speak with her yourself?"

"No," John said, shaking his head. "She—um. Actually, the guard said it was strange I was asking about her. They found her dead in her cell about an hour and a half ago. Said she hung herself."

"An hour and a half?" Sherlock repeated. "Just as we arrived here."

John checked his watch, not following Sherlock's thought pattern. "Yeah . . . But her file said the same thing as the ones here—full confession, totally coherent. I thought you said they wouldn't be."

"They shouldn't have been," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "Unless it wasn't possession."

"It wasn't," Castiel broke his silence. "That man inside displayed none of the usual signs."

"Oh, like what? Vomiting pea soup?" John said dryly.

"Um—no," Castiel answered, blinking away his confusion as though he took the comment seriously. "Demons leave their vessels weakened and injured, both mentally and physically; and it wouldn't remain inside the host in a jail cell. That man wasn't possessed, Sherlock; I don't believe he ever was."

"Well," John said, trying not to say _I told you so_. "Thank god for that."

"I wouldn't say that. Now we haven't anything to go on," Sherlock said, staring off at the football match in thought. "Unless . . . It was something Patrick Lewis said. He _decided_ to attack, he just didn't have a reason to do so." He turned back to Castiel. "Do you know of anything that could control a person like that? Perhaps hold a power of suggestion?"

Castiel looked down and thought for a moment. "The only things I know of are hoodoo or voodoo."

"Great, witches now," John said.

"Which legend says Morgan le Fay was," Sherlock reminded him before referring to Castiel. "Would that leave any physical signs?"

Cas shrugged. "It's possible."

"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets and starting down the walkway. John and Castiel trailed after him on his either side. "John, call us a taxi to King's Cross. We need to be on the next train to Surrey. It's not too much of a detour on our journey to the Doctor."

John was already dialing when he asked, "Why are we going there?"

"We need physical proof," he said. "And, luckily for us, we've got a body."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five.**

They'd lost the sun by the time they reached the banks of the lake, and they met Sherlock, John, and Castiel at the nearby train station before making their way to the small house on the hilltop.

Merlin brought in some tea and, upon Castiel's request, coffee into the living room, where the others had congregated to go over what they'd learned. They sat in a circle around the coffee table, some on the cushioned furniture, some having brought in chairs from the kitchen, and some sitting on the floor or standing up. Clara stood away from the group, in front of the muted television, flipping from one news station to the next and absentmindedly chewing on her thumb.

As soon as Merlin entered the room, he instantly spotted a large mutt curled up on the sofa, squeezed in between Arthur and Sam, both of whom where scratching him idly.

Arthur had found the hound nearly four months prior and brought him home, and Merlin didn't have the heart to do anything but vaccinate him and give him a proper home. However, the dog was a stray at heart, and he would run off for days on end before eventually showing up on the porch again, having grown tired of hunting and fending for itself in the world and craving kibbles and bits. There were many things Merlin would tolerate from him, but his laying on the furniture was not one of them, no matter how difficult Arthur made it by allowing him on the couch whenever Merlin had his back turned.

"Gwaine, off the couch!" Merlin scolded, gesturing to the floor. The dog shot him a dirty look before hopping off the sofa, trotting over to his bed in the corner of the room, and munching on an old, discolored bone. Merlin groaned as he saw the long brown hairs and dander that Gwaine left stuck to the sofa's cushions, but he placed the tea tray on the table and plopped down next to Sam regardless.

"As I was saying," Sherlock said, leaning over and plucking a mug from the tray in unison with three other pairs of hands. "I examined the corpse. It was perfectly normal. A clear suicide, as was reported."

"Nothing that could suggest magic?" Arthur double-checked.

Sherlock gave a belittling smirk at the word, clearly sharing the Doctor's scientific view on magic. "No."

"You do a tox screen?" Dean asked.

"They usually aren't run for hangings and, even so, the prison didn't have the means in its lab," Sherlock said. "They'd have to send it out and that could take days."

"We checked the blood though," John offered.

"Yeah?" Sam said, sitting up a little. "Find anything in it?"

"Sulfur, maybe?" Dean supplied, following Sam's train of thought.

"Clean," Sherlock answered. "We've ruled out the Croatoan virus."

Despite himself, Dean looked impressed, and he shot a look at Cas. "You tell him about that?"

Castiel shook his head. "It was Sherlock's idea to look for it."

"Well, I'll be damned," Dean breathed. "Looks like someone did his homework."

To this, Sherlock gave a sarcastic smile, unfazed by the praise.

In the interim, Merlin had a thought. "What about the back of the neck?" he asked, reaching up and tapping at the old scar under his hairline in demonstration. "There would be something under the skin. It would look like the head of a snake. Or maybe just a deep wound?"

Sherlock furrowed his brows, but shook his head. "I saw nothing," he said, and Merlin pursed his lips to the side, searching for more ideas.

"Why d'you think that'd be there?" Sam asked him.

"It was a favorite of Morgana's for mind control," Merlin explained. "If she's working with the demons, I thought maybe she shared her methods."

"We don't know she's even back yet, Merlin," the Doctor said, leaning forward to catch his eyes. "There was no sign of her at Avalon. She could still be trying to get back." His eyes flickered from Merlin's to Arthur's and he asked, "You're _sure_ you don't remember anything about where you were before? It might help us."

Merlin turned his eyes on Arthur expectantly, and Arthur opened his mouth to answer, looking unsure for the slightest moment. However, before his words got out, the sound of a blaring alarm filled the small room. It had at least half a dozen sources, all ringing in unison. Sherlock was the first to take out his mobile, and everyone else followed in suit quickly after.

"What the hell is that?" Arthur complained, covering one ear to muffle the sound.

"Emergency alert," said Merlin in a preoccupied tone as he read the message on his screen.

A LOCKDOWN HAS BEEN ISSUED FOR THE GREATER LONDON AREA. CHECK LOCAL MEDIA.

Clara called from her place in front of the TV, "Doctor, look at this."

The alarms were silenced, and all heads swiveled towards the television, which showed a live image of a reporter outside Parliament while armored trucks and ambulances flared their dizzying blue lights in the background and a massive crowd could be seen hustling inside the police tape. The headline on the bottom of the screen read: _London in Lockdown_.

Merlin didn't quite know how it happened, but he found himself suddenly gathered around the telly with the others, his eyes fixed on the screen. Clara pointed the remote forward and turned up the volume.

". . . estimated in the thousands," the reporter was saying, sounding urgent. "Once again, there have been multiple attacks, all having happened at the bottom of last hour. As you can see, I'm now standing outside Parliament, where bodies have reportedly been found. Among the dead are representatives of both Houses. A similar attack was executed this evening in Whitehall, along with massive explosions within New Scotland Yard, Kings Cross, and three other Underground stations within Central London. I've been told these events _are_, in fact, connected and were carried out simultaneously across the city. There is no word on the manner of these attacks, but there is no evidence that firearms have been used. Those in critical condition are being taken to hospital . . ."

John seemed to be the only one whose eyes weren't exclusively on the news report. He had his mobile to his ear, occasionally letting out frustrated sounds before killing the current call and redialing.

The reporter continued, "Rumors of the Prime Minister's disappearance have been circulating at this time, as Downing Street has given no response to today's events. Buckingham, too, is vacant, spurring questions of whether these attacks were indeed anticipated."

Merlin felt his heart skip, trying not to dwell on the thought that crept into the forefront of his mind.

"At least your brother did as Merlin asked. That's good," Arthur said to Sherlock, who hummed in response.

"Yes, unless they were waiting for the Royals to leave London," he answered, voicing the dreaded, spinning thoughts in Merlin's head. "With them gone and the Prime Minister missing, the city is vulnerable for attack."

"Oh, yes, Sherlock, thanks!" he snapped, not able to help himself. "Hindsight _is_ twenty-twenty. Understood."

"Shh!" Clara hissed, bumping up the volume.

". . . Deputy Prime Minister has ordered a citywide lockdown. All public transportation in and around the city has been suspended. People are urged to stay inside until further notice. Do _not_ try to leave your homes. Those seen on the streets could be subject to interrogation—"

"The lines are jammed. I can't get through to Mary," said John, finally giving up and shoving his phone into his pocket. He started for his jacket on the opposite end of the room and fought his way hurriedly into it.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sherlock asked him, probably not as coolly as he would have liked.

"To London!" John yelled. "To get _my wife_!"

"John, don't be ridiculous. You heard the report," Sherlock said. "There's no way into London."

"_I'll find a way_!" he shouted, but then took a deep breath to collect himself and squared his shoulders. Then, his eyes lit up. "The Tardis!"

The Doctor looked up in surprise. "What? Tardis? What about the Tardis?"

"The _Tardis_!" John repeated with emphasis, taking a step forward and holding up his palm beseechingly. "Doctor, you could get me into London."

The Doctor searched his shoes, seeming to think this over.

Dean was much more decisive. "You wanna land a spaceship in the middle of a demon attack? Really?"

The Doctor sighed. "He's right, John," he said sorrowfully. "It's risky."

"No!" John said, almost losing his temper again. He shook his head to get it under control, but pointed out a stern finger. "No. I will not have _you_ of all people tell me about risk. No . . . Doctor."

The Doctor only gave his sad eyes, barely able to meet his gaze.

So John turned to Sherlock, whispering his name to elicit his help. Sherlock's jaw tightened, and he stayed silent.

For a moment, John looked lost and betrayed, but then he let out another breath and straightened himself out. "Right. I'm going," he said with finality, turning to the hallway.

"Doctor, take him," Arthur said immediately, and Merlin spun around at the request. Only it wasn't a request. Arthur's face was set and he was staring at the Doctor unwaveringly. It was an order.

The Doctor almost argued, but Arthur stopped him before he could get started.

"Take him into London. Take us all."

"Arthur, we don't know what we'd be getting ourselves in the middle of," Merlin reasoned, but Arthur didn't listen.

"And perhaps the only way we can find out is by _putting_ ourselves in the middle of it," he shot back, then looked back to the Doctor. "The report said firearms weren't used. If we can determine the nature of these attacks, we may be able to prevent more," he continued. "In the meantime, John can find his wife and bring her here to safety."

Merlin bit his lip in thought. He'd forgotten how impulsive Arthur could be.

"I second that," Sam spoke up, nodding in solidarity. Arthur glanced up at him in thanks.

"Me, too!" John said eagerly.

"We'll be armed," Cas offered, revealing his angel blade from inside his jacket.

Merlin noticed Dean shoot a wary look between Castiel and Sam.

"Alright," Dean conceded. "Fine. I'm in."

The Doctor left the hub of the group to pace a short distance, his thoughts almost visible. Soon, he stopped walking and turned to John. "I'll land inside Parliament. You get out and find your wife. I can give you a half hour."

"A half hour with no tube?" John stuttered, gaping.

"We can do it," Sherlock cut in before John could say anything else. "I'll go with him."

"Good," the Doctor said curtly. "Winchesters, Castiel—you're with me. Clara?"

"Staying," she said. "I need to get in touch with Dad and George, tell them to get out if they can."

"How?" Dean wondered. "Thought John said the lines were down."

"Not when the Doctor's supercharged my mobile," she assured him. "You lot go."

"Merlin and Arthur, hold down the fort with her," the Doctor said briskly, starting towards the door with the others.

Arthur took a step forward, holding the Doctor back.

"We're going with you," he said determinedly.

"No," the Doctor him. "You're staying here—where it's safe. Both of you."

Merlin scoffed, feeling belittled. "_Safe_? Doctor, we're coming."

"You think Morgana's working with the demons?" he shot back. When he didn't get an answer, he went on quickly, "And what happens if one of those demons is there? What happens if _she's_ there? She won't recognize us. You two might as well be wearing signs."

Merlin wasn't happy about it, but he couldn't argue. He turned his eyes on Arthur, who was looking mutinous but staying silent all the same.

The Doctor straightened out and snapped towards the television. "Keep your eyes on the news," he said, turning around again. "Everyone else, with me."

As they left, Sam lingered behind to lock eyes with Merlin in a silent conversation that didn't make Merlin feel any better. Still, he sighed submissively and turned away when Sam did, and he plopped back down on the sofa, which Clara was pacing behind with her mobile held up. Gwaine trotted over and placed his head on the cushion next to Merlin, staring up at him with sympathetic eyes.

Arthur stayed put, staring at the now empty space in front of him long after the front door down the corridor slammed shut.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six.**

The intersection was packed with reporters, first responders, police officers, and the fire brigade, the flashing blue lights of their silent vehicles ricocheting off the puddles and washing out the darkness of the night. The only light that held Sam's interest was the whining red of the small device on top of the gurney he was navigating through the thick throng of people. The EMF detector's readings had skyrocketed the moment he turned it on, and they hadn't stopped since.

Not expecting that to change now, he risked looking away from it to glance over his shoulder. The mass of people was greatest near the entrance of the tube, beneath the sign reading Westminster Station, where an explosion killed hundreds people and injured hundreds more earlier that evening. The ambulances were taking as many bodies as they could to the morgue, but the injured were first priority and the EMTs couldn't keep up, so a section on the road was blocked off to lay the dead beneath white tarp. Those with more minor injuries were treated in the SOCO tents set up on the bridge, which were overrun with victims from both the tube station and Parliament, where Dean and the Doctor were.

In his hurry, someone bumped into the gurney Sam was pushing. It caused the EMF to whine louder in the close proximity, but it also made slip the white sheet covering the man beneath it. Cas grunted and scrambled for the corner of the sheet, attempting to pull it back over him, but Sam grabbed his shoulders and forced him back down.

"You're supposed to be dead, remember?" he whispered through the surgeon mask he was wearing. He'd stolen it along with the gurney from one of the ambulances. "So, look dead."

"Oh. Right," Cas said as Sam began straightening out the sheet. "How does one _look_ dead?"

"Just—don't move," said Sam. The sheet fell over Cas' face. "And be quiet."

"Of course," was the muffled answer. It made Sam roll his eyes.

Sam slipped the EMF beneath the sheet next to Cas' head and continued to push. He glanced down every now and again, able to see the red lights glaring through the white and making the fabric transparent.

When he was nearing the edge of the intersection towards the ambulances and fire trucks, Sam directed his attention away from the device and scanned the area for a safe place for Cas' miraculous resurrection. But then his eyes caught someone—some_thing _—standing beneath a streetlight on the opposite side of the road, near the bank of the Thames. He realized his mouth was hanging open when it went dry, and he squinted his eyes to get a better look at the creature.

It was tall and slender with a large, misshapen head. Sam couldn't be sure in the low light, but he thought the creature's rough skin was pale gray. He almost left the gurney behind to get closer to it, but then an ambulance whooshed passed, quickly blocking his view of—

Sam blinked at the empty street corner, wondering why he was so fixated on it. It was too out in the open for their escape, not that anyone would notice, anyway. The area was basically a circus. Still, it was better not to risk it, especially with all the demons around. Sam rattled away the fog in his head before gripping back onto the gurney and pushing forward.

When they were far enough from the crowd and the cameras, in the deep shadows close to the Abbey, the EMF went dead and Sam tore the sheet from over Cas, who sat up and kicked his legs over the side.

"Those readings, Sam," he said as he stretched out his muscles and stood up, "they were too consistent."

"I know," Sam agreed. He reached into his pocket, took out another surgical mask, and offered it to Cas. "Put this on. We gotta get back in there—," he nodded towards Parliament, with a sea of people before it, "—back to Dean and the Doc."

Cas put on the mask and they started towards Parliament, rolling the gurney between them.

* * *

Commandeering a police motorcycle had been easy. It was the getting across town that proved difficult. Most major roads were either barricaded due to an explosion or swarmed with police. Things didn't calm down once Sherlock and John had gotten out of Central London, either. Cars were gridlocked on the street, some crashed into other vehicles or lampposts, others abandoned completely, and civilians and families were rushing down the pavements in hopes to either get inside or get away. Then there were the armored trucks that rolled through, which Sherlock avoided at all costs. Nothing good ever came from a military presence.

Finally, they made it to John and Mary's building, and John had hopped off the motorcycle and rushed for the front stoop before Sherlock could fully kill the engine. When he had, he jumped off, too, and rushed up the stairs after John until they reached the small flat.

The door was wide open when they got there.

"Mary!" John called. He came to a running halt in the entrance room of the flat and looked around in a panic, deciding which room to check first.

However, he could check them all and it would prove fruitless. Mary wasn't there. Sherlock knew that at first glance. John was less observant, and a hundred times more persistent.

"Mary?" he said again, his voice only fractionally softer, as he jogged into the bedroom. Sherlock trailed after him, and John was sticking his head into the bathroom and saying Mary's name again by the time he got there.

Sherlock scanned the room, taking in the state of it. The drawers of the dresser were torn open, loose shirts pouring over the sides, clothing was strewn about the floor, the closet was open and trashed, and the nightstands were devoid of any personal objects.

"John," Sherlock said calmly before John could leave the room to search elsewhere. "She isn't here."

"She's got to be," John answered, his breath becoming slightly labored. "If someone took her—"

"No one took her," Sherlock interrupted, trying to calm him down before he got too worked up. He gestured towards the mess. "Look around, John. She left on her own. She packed; half her wardrobe is missing. And look at the bedside table—look at the walls. She took the photographs with her. Family pictures are always the first thing the woman of the house packs in times like these."

John let out a noise that was something between a breath and a scoff.

"_What_ times like these?"

Sherlock didn't have an answer. He dropped his shoulders in a breath instead.

"She's gone, John."

* * *

". . . With the majority of the cabinet members victim to today's attacks, the acting Prime Minister has set up an emergency committee, consisting of elite members of the Armed Forces. Their first act was to declare the city under military order—"

The picture cut out momentarily as Merlin changed the channel. He was crouched on the floor in front of the television, white knuckling the remote.

"—but millions have already attempted to evacuate London, causing widespread reports of unrest, injury, and, in some cases, death—"

"—the city remains closed off until the matter is in hand . . ."

"Would you turn that off?" Arthur said wearily.

Merlin peered over his shoulder at Arthur, locating him in the corner of the room, crossing his arms stiffly over his chest and staring out the window at the empty street.

"We need some idea of what's going on," Merlin told him, but he picked himself up and walked away from the television. His eyes flashed towards the hallway, listening out for Clara, still on the phone trying to get a hold of her family from the kitchen.

Arthur rubbed at his eyes. "The reports are hardly going to come out saying it's demons from the pits of Hell, Merlin."

"No," Merlin admitted. "But at least we have some idea of what they're doing. An emergency committee? Military order? That just means they've dissolved the government. Every member of that committee could be under something else's control, like the Deputy Prime Minister is."

"Or they could be possessed," offered Arthur, turning away from the window at last. "The reporters may be, too. You can't believe a word they're saying."

"No," Merlin said again, looking back at the newscaster currently on the television. "He's trying to be professional, but look at his eyes. He's scared. They all are."

"Which is why we should be there," Arthur snipped in frustration. He pushed passed Merlin to be closer to the television. From his bed on the other side of the room, Gwaine stuck his head up.

"For scared people like him," Arthur went on, gesturing towards the picture, "to stop the attacks. Instead we're here, watching _telly_! And these men—these _people_—you seem so fond of—you just let them walk out."

"Because the Doctor was right," Merlin countered. "We can't risk you getting recognized."

"Why _not_?"

"Because you're _you_!"

Arthur let out a scoff. "What _is it_ with you all thinking one man is more important than thousands of other lives—?"

"Because this is _your_ life!" Merlin couldn't stop himself from shouting in attempt to get his point across. Relaxing himself, he finished, "You did not come back to die, or worse. I will not let that happen."

"And I will not wait here and allow that fate to befall an entire city," Arthur answered stubbornly.

"I know," Merlin told him, "but, right now, you have to trust the Doctor."

Arthur laughed in disbelief, his temper rising again. "_Why_?" he demanded. "Who is he? Who are any of them?"

Merlin didn't match Arthur's anger. Instead, he let out a patient breath, trying to figure out the best way to respond. Arthur might as well have asked him to describe a color: there were no words for it. It just simply was, and always had been. Merlin could hardly remember a time before the Doctor, the Winchesters, and Sherlock.

He sat down on the sofa and leaned forward. "You know how I'm always prattling on about destiny?" he asked.

Arthur studied him for a moment. "I can recall a time or two, yes."

"Well, they are, too, in their own way," Merlin told him. He chewed the inside of his mouth thoughtfully for a moment, trying to word this correctly and in a way that would make sense to Arthur. "The Doctor is someone who nearly creates destiny," he decided on. "Sam and Dean fight against it. But, Sherlock—I don't think he even believes in it."

Arthur furrowed his brow. "What does that make you to destiny?"

Merlin considered this for a moment. He took in a breath, his eyes showing his age.

"It's servant," he said softly, and then his gaze swept back to Arthur's. "What I'm trying to say is, they're on our side. I have known them all my life. They are my friends, and there is no one I would rather have fighting along side us."

Arthur didn't seem fully convinced, but he contemplated this. Eventually, he sat down next to Merlin.

"Before the Doctor left for the Winchesters, he said he was getting my knights?" Arthur said, phrasing it as a question.

"Yeah," Merlin breathed with a touch of humor. "That's a bit more complicated to explain."

* * *

Dean unzipped a body bag in the row lying on the floor of the corridor outside the House of Commons Chamber. Immediately after he'd separated the fabric to look at the body, he let out a groan and looked away. Kneeling next to him, the Doctor also retracted and let out a disgusted noise that made him sound like a kid disgusted by cooties.

"Yup, that's _definitely_ not firearms," Dean muttered as he looked back at the corpse. Now that the initial shock had died away, he could inspect it.

The first thing he noticed, of course, was the skin, which was blotched and bubbling and no longer it's normal color, whatever that was beforehand. He couldn't find any entry wounds or an exact cause of death on the surface, so he was happy to see the Doctor discretely give the body a once over with the sonic screwdriver.

"It looks like her insides were turned to mush," he reported like he'd never seen anything like it. "They all burst instantaneously."

"Yeah," said Dean into a sigh. "That's a demon attack if I ever saw one. Looks like they brought out the big guns for this one." He glanced up at the row of body bags. "You think the rest are the same?"

"I wouldn't doubt it."

Down the corridor, there was a sudden commotion, and Dean and the Doctor stood up to get a better view of it. At first, walking down the adjacent hallway to another part of the building, was a group of men and women in military uniforms; but then Dean saw a woman with jet black hair and pale skin, wearing a smart suit, walking in the middle of the crowd. The others surrounding her were speaking over each other in rapid voices as though they were reporting to her, but she didn't seem the least bit overwhelmed or even interested. She stayed silent, facing forward with a stony expression as she walked tall.

As soon as he saw her, she and her inferiors disappeared behind the wall and continued down the corridor.

"Hang on, I've seen her before," Dean said thoughtfully, confident that the Doctor knew which person he was talking about. Dean tried to place her face, until finally he remembered it. He'd seen her in the forest outside of Camelot with Amy.

"Morgana."

The Doctor snapped into attention, wildly looking from Dean to the end of the corridor again, as though he expected to see her.

"What? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Dean told him. "I thought you said she didn't come through Avalon."

"She _didn't_," insisted the Doctor.

Dean heard someone hiss his name from behind him, and he turned around to find Sam and Cas tucked into a doorway a few feet from the Chamber. Dean nudged the Doctor's shoulder before leading him into the dark room, and Sam closed the door softly behind them.

"What d'ya got?" Dean asked immediately.

Sam held up the EMF, now powered off. "We had to turn it off, it was so loud," Sam told him. "Dude, you can't go a foot without someone being a demon. I'm starting to think us and the vics are the only ones here who are human."

"I wouldn't be so sure," the Doctor said.

"Why?"

"You just missed Morgana," Dean answered.

Sam's eyes widened and he jerked his head forward in shock. "What? She's here?"

"How?" asked Cas.

"You got me," said Dean.

"Wait, no," Sam said, thinking hard. "Remember what the Toymaker said? It had a _boss_. Somebody got it out of its trap. Maybe it brought Morgana back, too."

"But why recruit demons?" Dean wondered, but he couldn't argue with Sam's theory.

"I dunno," Sam admitted.

"We have to find out who she's working for," Cas said. "That will give us the answer."

Sam and Dean both nodded in solidarity, but the Doctor remained motionless.

"Doc?" Sam said, fishing for his attention. "Any input here, or are you just gonna keep up the silence?"

The Doctor looked up at Sam in sudden surprise, making Sam furrow his brow in perplexity. Dean, however, let the look slide.

"Alright, we gotta get out of here," he decided. "All these demons, one of 'em is bound to recognize me or Sam."

"We should get back to Merlin and Arthur's and come up with a plan," Cas agreed.

"Yeah, A _through_ Z."

"Not yet," the Doctor said suddenly. It took Dean slightly aback.

"Are you kiddin' me?"

"No. We have to wait for Sherlock and John."

Dean licked his lips and looked off. "Look, I don't wanna leave them, either," he said after a beat. "But we don't really have a choice. We're surrounded, here."

"We'll have to hold out a bit longer," the Doctor insisted. "They've still got—," he made a flourish to check his wristwatch, "—ten minutes."

"The Doctor is right," Cas said, causing Dean's brows to dart to his hairline. "We wait for Sherlock."

"I'll keep a lookout," the Doctor offered and strode towards the door. Cas, too, drifted towards the window to look at the crowd and flashing lights below.

Dean let out a breath of defeat, about to sulk after Cas, when Sam gripped him tightly on the bicep. Dean almost shouted at him and shook him off, but then he caught Sam's expression. The look in his eyes was enough for Dean to know it wasn't his brother.

"Get us out of here," Zeke demanded.

Dean swallowed hard. "The Doc's not leavin' until Sherlock—"

"Figure it out," Zeke interrupted, his voice warning. He cast a look at Cas before releasing Dean and straightening out. "_All_ of it."

His eyes flashed a hot, blinding blue, and Sam's expression suddenly became more familiar. He looked idly around the room before soon locking on to Dean's still-worried gaze, and shot Dean a confused look.

"You alright?" he asked skeptically.

"Uh, yeah—yeah," Dean hurried to say before looking away. He really wished Zeke would give him more reaction time.

When Sam wandered off, Dean cast a glance at the door the Doctor had disappeared out of, and then he looked at his watch.

"Nine minutes," he murmured.

* * *

A military truck drove slowly down the street until it stopped parallel to John's building. Sherlock watched from the kitchen window over the sink as half a dozen uniforms exited the vehicle and he immediately noticed that none of them carried guns, as they would do in a time of unrest. That told Sherlock that these people didn't need them. It told him they weren't even, in fact, people.

One of them, a woman, gestured this way and that and called out muffled orders that he couldn't hear from the distance; the rest of them spread out to different buildings and starting kicking down doors.

They were looking for someone in particular, and Sherlock thought he knew whom.

"We have to go," he said urgently, straightening out from his lean over the sink. "We'll take the fire escape." He looked over his shoulder at John, who was pacing the kitchen and holding his mobile to his ear.

"She's still not picking up."

"Of course, she isn't. The lines are jammed."

John let out a frustrated sound and killed the call.

"We've stayed here for too long," Sherlock went on, pointing towards the window. "Those creatures outside—I think they're coming for us."

John shook his head. "_Creatures_? Sherlock—I'm not leaving this city until I find Mary."

Sherlock tossed his head back and gave a quick, aggravated groan. "We have to be across town in—," he peered at his watch and let out a humorless laugh, "—less than ten minutes."

"The Doctor wouldn't just leave us, Sherlock," John reasoned, staring down at his mobile as though it were about to spring into life.

Sherlock admired John's faith in the Doctor, but he didn't share it.

"He _really_ would."

"Then you go," John demanded, gripping the mobile in his fist and pointing it towards Sherlock.

"Oh, for god's sake, John!"

There was no point in arguing anymore, and there certainly wasn't any time. They'd be discovered sooner rather than later, so Sherlock spun around and rifled through the cabinets until he found a container of raw salt. He hurried to line the windows with it as John spoke.

"You told Lestrade to stay with her. She could be with him."

He was already dialing when Sherlock responded, "If Lestrade was in Scotland Yard during the attack, he's dead." There was a hint of remorse in his tone, and a slight pang in his chest at the prospect, but he forced it away. However, it was enough to get John's full attention again.

"He wouldn't have been there," he said with conviction. "He listens to you. He _always_ listens to you!"

"Keep your voice down."

Sherlock moved to put salt down before the kitchen's entrance.

"Fine, if he is, then," John went on, not keeping his voice down, "she could have gone to Baker Street. She could be waiting for us there—"

"John, please!" Sherlock snapped. He put the salt down and rushed back to the window. The truck was still there, but no one was next to it.

"The Doctor was wrong," he said. "Those demons outside are looking for us. Merlin and Arthur aren't the only ones who could be identified. They know all of us—they know me. We have to assume Baker Street is being watched."

John shook his head again, his disbelief turning into anger. He balled his fists at his side. "Enough, Sherlock. Enough of this. No more _demons_, no more _possession_. Tell me what's going on. Tell me, right now."

"I _am_ telling you."

"No. What you did was pour _salt_ all over my kitchen." John gestured behind him at the line of crystal before pulling a face and flapping his arms at his side in an exaggerate shrug. "What'll that do? Hmm? I'll tell you what it'll do—_nothing_! You can't honestly believe—"

"I do," Sherlock cut him off, sounding severe. He pulled his face into a frown and looked John in eyes to demonstrate his sincerity. "I honestly do, John. I have exhausted every other possible explanation. I've tried to disprove it—I still am trying. But there are things you don't know, John. I have seen a world a part from the one we live in, and I don't take all its components for absolutely truth, but I can't deny its existence. I have to _entertain_ the idea of belief, because I have to be ready. John—"

He strode close to John until he stood directly in front of him.

"Do you believe Mary is alive?" he asked.

John looked unsure fore a moment, but then he nodded. "Yes."

"And do you want to find her?"

"Yes."

"Then, we will," promised Sherlock. "But, for that, _you_ have to be alive."

There was a heavy pause, but John must have decided to trust him, because he didn't argue.

There was a faint creaking of floorboards that caught Sherlock's attention. He looked up, gazing out of kitchen and down the hall that led to the main entrance in certainty it sounded from that direction. It happened again, louder now, and he realized it was coming from the stairwell outside John's flat.

"They've found us," John whispered.

However, Sherlock didn't bother hushed tones anymore. "Yes, well, you weren't exactly being quiet."

"What do we do?"

"Stay behind the salt—"

The main door of the flat splintered and, simultaneously, the wall around it cracked and caved in what felt like an explosion; but, instead of the heat of fire, the impact caused a force of air and debris that sent Sherlock off his feet, backwards until his back hit the kitchen counter. It wasn't enough to cause unconsciousness, but it knocked the air from him for a dizzying few moments.

The dust was thick as it settled. He breathed it in and coughed it out, not able to see John through it. Sherlock called his name hoarsely. He reached up and gripped at the lip of the sink to drag himself to his feet. As the debris lessened, he located John on the floor, groaning awake and hoisting himself up onto his elbows.

Then Sherlock saw someone else. She was walking down the destroyed hallway towards them, a smirk twisting her features. He recognized her as the military woman from the street.

"If it isn't Sherlock Holmes," she said in the voice of a stranger, but there was something familiar to it. "Long time."

Swiftly, she raised her hand and flung it in the direction of the wall. Sherlock felt his body jerk in that direction involuntarily, and his back hit the wall with the thump. He tried with all his might to regain control of himself, but it was as though every muscle in his body was paralyzed.

"Sherlock!" John shouted like a knee-jerk reaction, and the woman turned her head swiftly to look at him, her eyes solid black.

"Oh, my god," John muttered to himself.

With one hand still outstretched to hold Sherlock, she raised her other to John, who froze on the spot.

"Let him go," Sherlock struggled to speak, catching the demon's attention again.

She grinned. "Where's the fun in that? You _know_ how I love to torment you, Sherlock. Ooh, I really missed playing inside your head. So much more of a challenge than what I'm used to."

She smacked her lips in a kiss towards him, and his jaw tightened in anger.

"You—"

"Yup! You, me, and the good doctor, here," she said, nodding back to John. "Tsk, tsk, Sherlock; you just couldn't stay away. You're weaker than I thought."

"Sherlock, what is she talking about?" John choked out.

"Nothing, dear, just his commitment issues," the demon called over her shoulder. "It really hurt my feelings when you just kicked me out like that, Sherlock. Not even a goodbye." Her lips twisted upwards again. "But at least I get my revenge on your boyfriend, right?"

She looked at John and slowly curled the tips of her fingers towards her palm. At once, John started to gag as though her hand was around his throat.

Sherlock began to struggle again, but his limbs wouldn't budge. He felt trapped inside himself without control. It was the second time that had happened to him, but he'd overcome it once. He had to again, not for his own sake this time but for John's.

"I'm going to enjoy ripping the lungs from him," the demon was saying. She ignored John's retching and turned her head again towards Sherlock. "And then, when he's nice and finished, I'll gut you."

Movement in the hallway beyond caught Sherlock's peripherals. It was a shadow amidst the wreckage, and his eyes flashed towards it long enough to recognize the figure.

His mouth curved into a humored sneer at the demon.

"Please," he said coolly. "Ladies first."

From his hiding place, Castiel rushed behind the demon and shoved his angel blade into her back with such strength that the tip ripped through her and out the other side. She emitted a shout as the veins beneath her skin flared blood orange. Castiel pulled the blade out of her, and she crumbled to the ground.

The tension surrounding Sherlock slackened, and he found it much easier to breathe. On the floor, John was gasping in bouts of air in attempt to regulate his breathing.

"The Tardis is outside," Castiel told them. "Let's move."

Between them, Castiel and Sherlock heaved John to his feet and carried him through his destroyed flat towards the exit.

* * *

All the channels had gone dead, and only the network logos and stand-by messages passed upon the screen as Merlin flipped through them. He was standing in front of the set again, Gwaine sitting at his side. Behind them, Arthur was leaned forward on the sofa, staring intently at the screen as though he expected the procession to change. Clara stood with her arms crossed behind the couch, bouncing slightly and biting her lip in trepidation.

They heard the front door creak open and Dean call in, "Lucy, I'm home."

All eyes left the TV screen to anxiously watch the others file into the living room.

"Wouldda been here sooner, but the Doc parked at the bottom of the hill," Dean continued.

The Doctor looked over his shoulder at him and shot a glare. "Fine, next time I'll let you drive."

"Oh, stop it, you two," Clara breathed with emotion, and she rushed forwards towards the group.

The Doctor let out a whooping laugh and held his arms open wide to her. "Clara! Miss me?"

She ran right passed him and threw her arms around Dean's neck, and he leaned in and enveloped her around the waist.

"Oh," the Doctor said, sounding disappointed as his arms fell to his side and he looked on at the hug with his nose wrinkled. He let out an unsatisfied noise from his throat.

"Hey, come on, now," Dean told Clara as the hug broke. "You know I always come back in one piece."

She took a moment to beam up at him before turning towards the Doctor.

"Come here, you!" she sang, and his face erupted into a smile again as they jumped into each other's arms.

"What did you find?" Arthur asked abruptly, tired of being kept in the dark. Merlin could relate. Maybe it was the media silence that triggered it, but he had become antsy, too, and he was usually very good at waiting.

"For starters, there are way more demons than we thought," Sam obliged. "Like, thousands more."

"And we're confident they're in league with whomever the Toymaker was working for," Sherlock added. "They were looking for us. They possibly even anticipated our arrival in London."

"And Morgana?" Merlin dared asked, feeling a pit in his stomach. It grew when Sam looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

"We saw her," the Doctor said, and Merlin let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Beside him, Arthur did the opposite.

"She's back," the Doctor carried on, his eyes searching Arthur. "I'm sorry."

Arthur nodded sternly.

"Alright," Dean said decisively, clapping his hands together to gain the room's attention. "We'll all gossip later, but first's thing's first: the demons are looking for us. Only a matter of time until they find us." He pursed his lips at Merlin. "You got this place protected?"

Merlin nodded. "Every spell in the book."

"Good," Dean said shortly. "But the more the better. Everybody find a marker. We're gonna demon-proof this place."

"And salt?" John piped up. "To—um. It keeps out the demons."

"Yeah," Sam said, trying not to sound shocked at John's sudden acceptance. Then he turned to Merlin. "I'm guessing you have a stockpile?"

"I know _you_, don't I?"

Sam chuckled as Merlin led him into the kitchen, and they each got to work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven.**

The sheets rustled as Merlin rolled onto his side. Having completely given up on sleep that night, he stared at the blank wall of Arthur's bedroom. Merlin had given Clara his room for the night, while Sam, Dean, Castiel, and John found places to sleep in the living room. The Doctor and Sherlock, however, did not seem to sleep very much at all, and Merlin could still hear their muffled whispers from the kitchen despite it being four in the morning. Although, it was a shock that Merlin could hear anything past Arthur's snoring in his ear for three consecutive hours.

Merlin looked over his shoulder to glare at Arthur in the darkness, hoping that his wishing alone would shut him up, but his eyes caught something else entirely. Through the window on the other side of the room, Merlin glimpsed the shadow of a tall man—no, except it wasn't a man at all, despite the fact that it was wearing a very dapper looking suit. In the dim moonlight, Merlin saw it was a gangly creature with gray wrinkled skin and sunken pits for eyes on its enlarged head. The creature was standing inches outside the window, staring in fixedly at the sleeping Arthur. Merlin gasped at the sight of the thing and blinked at it but, once he had done so, the creature was gone.

He blinked again, his eyes still on where the creature had stood. Without glancing away, Merlin sat up and threw the blankets off of himself. While getting out of bed, he nearly tripped over Gwaine, who was sleeping soundly on the floor, but eventually managed to stumble his way over to the windowpane.

Merlin peered out the glass in both directions, but was only met with the trees and grass of his small back garden. He let out a confused "humph," and rested his hands on the windowsill, remembering the delicate line of salt placed on it too late. He withdrew his hands like he had touched fire, hoping that he hadn't caused too much damage. He found a small break in the line of crystal, too precise to be done mistakenly. It was strange, but thought he had some memory of purposefully causing it.

Nevertheless, he hovered his palm over the line and it instantly repaired itself.

From behind him, Arthur let out a groan.

"Merlin?" came his groggy voice from across the room. "What on Earth are you doing?"

Merlin looked behind him at the droopy-eyed Arthur, whose head was lifted slightly from his pillow to reveal tussled tuffs of gold.

"I thought I saw something," Merlin admitted.

"Did you?" There was a hint of alertness in Arthur's tone now.

Merlin looked back warily at the window, but the horrible creature had not returned. In fact, it had been there so briefly that he was beginning to doubt he had seen it at all. He tried to remember what the thing looked like, but its details were starting to slip from him, until the image of the creature became blurred in his mind and it almost hurt him to think about it.

"No," Merlin decided on. "I must have been dreaming."

Arthur let his head fall back onto the pillow, all concern gone from his voice. "Then go back to sleep," he said with a yawn. "There will be plenty of time for your overactive imagination in the morning."

Merlin cast another look at the window before shaking his head and crossing back to the right side of the bed. By the time he tucked himself back into the warm blankets, Arthur was already snoozing; but Merlin was too wired still to sleep, especially now. He watched the glowing red numbers of the digital clock next to his head change for a few eternity-long minutes.

Just as Merlin let his eyelids fall, he heard Gwaine growling deeply from beside him. Merlin's eyes tore open and looked down at the dog, whose ears were straight as he stared transfixed at the door. His hackles were up, and it wasn't long before Gwaine's low growls turned into a bark.

Merlin's neck nearly snapped with how quickly he turned it to follow Gwaine's line of vision. He saw, standing in the darkness at the foot of the bed, a different man than before: this one completely human and completely normal, despite his black eyes. The demon raised its hand, but Merlin was quicker. He pushed the air with his own palm and sent the man flying backwards with enough force to break the bedroom door down with a crash. The sound made Arthur bolt awake beside him.

"Sam!" Merlin called, already out of bed and running towards the demon and pile of plaster with Gwaine at his heels. Once in the corridor, he saw Clara's door fling open to reveal the alerted woman. He also saw the Winchesters, Cas, the Doctor, Sherlock, and John rushing in to see what the commotion was all about. Sam had his small knife ready in his hand.

"Demon!" Merlin shouted at them, but the word was almost drowned out as the man at his feet gave a muffled scream and a pillar of black smoke ejected itself from his lips. Merlin watched the smoke filter through the air conditioning unit in the ceiling before his eyes fell on the previously possessed man below him. He wasn't moving.

John came over and leaned down next to the man, checking his pulse with two fingers.

"Is he . . .?" Clara worried.

"Dead," John confirmed stoically. He stood up and turned around to face the others.

"How the hell did he get in?" Sam asked, and Merlin gulped as he remembered the break in line of salt.

By that time, the Doctor had crossed back into the living room, and he had pulled the curtain back to look outside the window. "I think," he said slowly, "we should ask how _we _can get _out_."

The others exchanged glances before piling into the living room and picking a window to peer out. Outside, Merlin saw a line of demons, standing placidly on the street. He recognized these people. He had seen them every day, milling about their yards: fathers and mothers and children. These were his neighbors, or at least some of them. Behind the line of demons encompassing the house was complete chaos: bare-footed children and robed parents and grandparents running into the woods, chased by what Merlin could only assume were other demons. Some people were staying behind, trying to convince their possessed loved one to run with them before they were silenced in the most ultimate way.

"It's the same outside the kitchen," Sherlock came into the living room to report.

"And the back of the house," came John shortly after.

"Shit," Dean hissed. "That salt ain't gonna hold 'em out forever."

"We have to get to the Tardis," the Doctor said, and Merlin could see the panic that he was trying to control in his eyes.

"_How_?" asked Dean. "We're surrounded."

"Shh!" ordered the Doctor, and he began to pace. "I'm thinking."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, like you were _thinking_ when you landed _all the way_ down the hill?"

The Doctor stopped pacing long enough to shoot him a glare. He pointed a finger at Dean. "Not helping," he stammered.

"There's only one way out," came Arthur's voice from the entranceway. Merlin looked over at him, standing tall and brandishing Excalibur. He twirled the sword effortlessly in his hand, even after all this time.

But, despite all of Arthur's bravado, Merlin couldn't let him walk outside with nothing but a sword, no matter how mighty. He'd be torn apart.

"Arthur—," Merlin began, but his words got caught in his throat. Arthur looked like the great warrior that Merlin had almost forgotten he was.

"He's right," the Doctor said. "The only way out is through. If we could get to the Tardis—"

"No." Arthur's face was stubborn, determined. "The people out there need our help against those creatures. We cannot abandon them."

"So, what? We just follow them into the woods?" Dean said. "Have ourselves a bonfire? Roast some marshmallows?"

"We get them to safety," Arthur said. "Find shelter for them. The same could be happening in the surrounding towns, and the survivors would have found their way into the forest. There's no telling how many people will be there."

"They'll be afraid," offered Clara. "And confused. They'll be looking for answers." She nodded bravely. "I say we do it."

The Doctor grinned at her. "I go where Clara goes."

Sam looked sideways at Dean and shrugged, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Sure," he said. "We never miss a demon-bashing." He turned to Cas. "You comin'?"

"Of course."

"Count us in, too," John offered before Sherlock could refuse, as though he had the choice.

Arthur nodded softly in thanks, and then turned to the only backup he ever really cared for and ever really needed. "Merlin?" he said apprehensively.

Merlin looked at the others, feeling somewhat comforted in their faith in the plan, despite the fact that there _was_ no plan other than to run to the woods and cut down anyone who got in their way. But he nodded regardless.

"Not to ruin the moment of solidarity, but I should point out not all of us have guns," Sherlock said.

"Well, I got this," Dean said, pulling his Colt out of his jacket. "Sam and Cas are good, Merlin's got it covered, and Arthur's got the magical sword of destiny. Anyone else?"

Clara and John shook their heads.

"Ooh! I have this!" the Doctor exclaimed with a beaming grin, holding up the sonic. None of them doubted the damage the Doctor could do with it, but it could hardly be considered a weapon.

"Right," Dean deadpanned.

"Doctor, you and Clara will aid the townspeople into the forest," Arthur directed.

"Wait, but we don't have anything," said John.

"Mm, not exactly," Sherlock said, pulling a face. He reached into his coat and pulled out a revolver. "I never said _I_ didn't have one."

"When did you start carrying _that_ around?" John gaped.

"He's right to," Dean told John. "These days, you better start carryin' a weapon everywhere."

Sherlock forced John's wrist up and placed the gun into his hand. "You take it."

"_What_?"

"You're a better shot than me. I'll help the Doctor."

John blinked at him, but eventually took the gun.

"Doesn't matter who's a better shot. All that's gonna do is slow them down. Mine's different," Dean told them. He took out the magazine out of his gun and picked out a bullet, showing it to the group. It had a small devil's trap etched into it. "Did that earlier tonight," he explained as he reloaded. He looked back to John. "How's your hand-to-hand?"

"Not bad," John answered modestly.

"Good. You stay with one of us. Slow 'em up, and we'll ice 'em."

"We'll cover the rest of you," Arthur promised the Doctor. "We fight until the last of the town is to safety. Then we meet in the forest. We can use it for cover."

"Doc, you guys stay in here 'til we take some out," Dean said. "Take some salt with you."

"Good luck," the Doctor said before watching them head towards the exit.

Merlin hung back for a moment to grab at the Doctor's arm and pull him closer. He whispered, "Doctor, if this goes wrong—"

"It won't."

"Listen to me. If this goes wrong, get everyone out of here. I'll handle the demons."

He leaned away, eyeing the Doctor until he nodded his understanding.

"No time for hindsight, Merlin," the Doctor told him heavily.

"I know."

Releasing the Doctor, Merlin followed after Arthur.

* * *

They huddled before the front door, and Dean pulled back the curtain on the built-in window to assess the situation one last time. Judging by the demons surrounding the house, they were outnumbered almost five to one, but Dean couldn't get an accurate count of the demons beyond that. He scanned the street until his eyes reached the dark woods behind the row of houses across from them, and he felt a familiar knot form in his chest.

He let the curtain fall back and straightened out before his gaze swept to Sam's, who steeled himself as he nodded.

"Let them make the first attempt," Arthur whispered, as though the demons might overhear the strategy. "Wait until there are breaks in their ranks and then spread out. We can draw them away from the forest."

Dean's fist tightened around his Colt as Arthur took in a few heavy breaths of preparation and pushed the door open. He was the first one out, and Dean followed closely behind. The screams coming from the street weren't muffled anymore. He heard them at full volume—the pleas, the cries, the final gasps, the sound of rushing feet against the tarmac. The line of demons remained around the property, unmoving.

He held his gun at the ready, wavering it from one demon to the other, waiting for them to make a move so he could shoot. In his peripheral, he saw John doing the same; Sam, Arthur, and Cas tensing as they held up their blades; and Merlin's eyes intently searching as though he could see everything all at once.

"C'mon, you sons of bitches!" Dean bellowed. "Fresh meat! Come and get it!"

"Cas!" Sam shouted.

Dean reacted to the name, too, and he spun around just in time to watch Cas thrust his angel blade into a demon that had materialized close by him. Then more came, one after the next until they were surrounded. Dean tried to shoot as little as possible to preserve bullets, and instead threw himself at a demon with his fists at first.

At one point, his Colt was knocked out of his hand. The demon was about to strike when Sam came up behind it, but instead of using Ruby's knife, he slammed his open palm down on the demon's head. Its skin flared hotly before the body crumpled at Sam's feet.

Dean locked eyes with him and nodded in thanks. Zeke nodded stiffly back.

As they fell, the demons terrorizing the neighbors began providing back up.

"Fan out!" Arthur ordered as the way to the street opened up. He twirled his sword with his wrist and rushed towards a demon drawing in. Arthur cut it down without a fight.

"John, with me," Dean heard Sam—the _real_ Sam—say from somewhere to his left, and the two sprinted off together towards the edge of the yard. Before they reached it, an attacker rushed towards them, and John emptied a round into its chest. The demon merely staggered, but the diversion gave Sam enough time to get close and slit its throat.

Meanwhile, Cas and Merlin were already on the street. Cas had his arms locked in a struggle as he fought to bring his blade down on the demon. Merlin had his palm upturned, and black smoke shot from the vessel's mouth as though the sorcerer were pulling it out by a string.

Dean ran back to the front door of the house and ripped it open. Immediately, Gwaine shot out and ran towards the street. Barking menacingly, he ran to Merlin's side and tore his teeth into the calf of an approaching demon.

"Go, go, come on!" Dean shouted as the Doctor, Clara, and Sherlock rushed out of the house, too. "I'll cover you!"

He stayed close to them as they ran out to the street, loosing a round into anything that got too close in the meantime.

"We've got it from here," the Doctor told him when they reached the middle of the street. Dean spun around face him.

"Dean!" Clara shouted, her eyes going wide as she looked over his shoulder.

Dean tried to turn around again, but he was too slow. His feet were ripped from the ground by an unforeseen force, and he landed hard on his back. A demon in the form of a teenage girl came forward, her palm trained on Dean. She tightened it into a fist and every inch of Dean's body blazed in pain. It felt like someone was crushing his bones, and he was only somewhat aware of his own shouting.

Distantly, he realized someone had jumped over him, putting themselves in between him and the demon.

Clara whipped out her container of salt and projected the crystal at the demon's face. At once, the pain Dean felt subsided, and he caught his breath as the Doctor and Sherlock dragged him to his feet.

"Are you alright?" Clara demanded, her strong tone masking her worry.

"Yeah," Dean wheezed against the lingering soreness. He pushed it away, focusing instead on the blood pounding through his ears. He blinked at Clara in something close to surprise. "Thanks."

"We can't waste any more time," Sherlock reminded them, breaking the moment.

"Then, get going," Dean told them all. They left him behind and rushed off in the direction of a family shielding themselves from an attack a few yards down.

He ran in the opposite direction, where Cas had just single handedly taken down two demons, but more were on their way. Dean intercepted one with a headshot before it could reach Cas, and Cas caught his eyes.

"Dean, I've lost track of everyone," he called. "Find them!"

"You sure?" said Dean as he got closer, his voice teasing despite the moment. "Humans need naps, Cas. Wanna tag-team?"

A demon was coming up behind Cas. Without turning around or even taking his eyes off Dean, he spun his angel blade in his hand and jammed into its torso.

"No," he told Dean, his face stoic.

"You got it," Dean muttered, leaving Cas to it and running off to find the others.

Every now and again, as fought he way through, he caught glimpses of Sherlock's coattails or the blurred flashing green of the sonic as they led more people into the tree line. He ignored the ache in his muscles and the stabbing pain in his bones; he paid no mind to the stinging wounds on his face from where one demon punched him or the sweat and sticky crimson running down his neck from where another sunk their teeth. Demons always fought dirty. They were good, but he was better. He left enough in his wake, paralyzed on the road because of the devil's trap lodged in their skull. He even put some out of their misery by exorcising them, when he had the time.

He realized it had been awhile since he'd seen Sam. He paused, looking the street up and down, but not finding him anywhere. Most of demons were down, their bodies littered under the streetlamps, but there were still a few clusters. Cas was down the road fighting two, and Dean caught sight of Merlin and John picking some more off a few feet away.

The Doctor, Clara, and Sherlock were out of sight, too, but neither were there any civilians. It was time to follow them into the woods.

Dean started towards John and Merlin.

"Where's Sam?" he shouted when he was close enough, barely flinching when Merlin sent a demon flying over Dean's head.

"Haven't seen him," John called in a preoccupied voice.

"Where's Arthur?" Merlin asked, but Dean shook his head in ignorance.

"Alright, John, come with me," Dean said, readying his gun again and nodding down the hill.

When they reached the incline, they saw a group of about a dozen demons massed together; and in the middle of them were Sam, Arthur, and Gwaine. From what Dean could see, Arthur was covering Sam, who had somehow lost his knife. From the way Sam moved, Dean realized the demon he was fighting had taken it.

"Looks like they could use two more," John said, and Dean agreed. Together, they ran down the slope.

They managed to help Sam out by blowing away a few of the demons around him, but they could never get a clear shot of the one with the knife. Sam blocked the jabs well enough, but Dean saw a massive amount of blood streaming from a gash on his temple. His movements were fatigued, and Dean knew Zeke was the only thing keeping him standing.

But sometimes even Zeke was too slow. The demon got a clear shot, and it forced the knife cleanly into Sam's stomach. Sam emitted a deep shout that suddenly encompassed Dean's entire world.

"Sammy!" he yelled, in unison with John's, "Sam!"

The demon ripped the knife out, and Sam's hands flew to the wound as blood poured through the cracked in his fingers.

Another demon came up on Dean's side, but he was too determined to get to Sam for a fight. He grabbed the demon by its shirt collar and positioned the Colt beneath its jaw. The shot caused a spray that painted his face.

* * *

"Where are they?" Sherlock hissed, poking his head from around a tree trunk to get a better view of the now vacant street.

"I don't know," the Doctor whispered back. He had been staring at the road for some time now, his hearts in his throat as he waited. He hated waiting. He hated not knowing what was going on.

"The plan was to come here once everyone was safe," Sherlock shot back.

"I _know_!"

"Shh!" Clara shushed, grabbing a hold of the Doctor and pushing herself closer to his back. "Do you hear that?"

The Doctor trained his ears to adjust to the silence, until the rustling of dead leaves broke it.

His fingers tightened around the sonic, and the green tip flared with a hum as he raised it in the direction of the noise. Castiel came out of the darkness, his bloodied features tinted by the green light until the Doctor and Clara took a collective relieved breath and he lowered the sonic.

"I've been looking for you," Castiel told him in a low voice. He looked around. "Where are Dean and Sam?"

"Indeed," said Sherlock. "Where are any of them?"

"They must be still out there," Cas said, pulling out his blade again. "Come on!"

He ran back out to the road, and the Doctor gave no argument. They found Dean, Sam, John, and Arthur soon enough. Sam was on the ground, and Dean was over him, pressing his palms into Sam's lower stomach. Arthur stayed close by, protecting them from any attackers. Meanwhile, John was wrestling with another demon, this one with the Winchesters' knife in hand—or at least it was until John knocked it out of its grip, took it up, and plunged it through its heart.

"Sam!" Cas shouted, running towards the fight. Sherlock and Clara sprinted after him.

There were only half a dozen demons left, all of them with their eyes set on Arthur.

"Get him out of here," Arthur called behind his back as John and Sherlock lifted Sam to his feet. Cas had taken off his work vest and ripped it so there was enough fabric to tie tightly around Sam's waist, attempting to cut off the blood flow.

"_Go_!" Arthur shouted forcefully when no one immediately moved.

He faced the oncoming attack again and gripped his sword it both hands. He slashed it forward, but it only met air, unbalancing him for a moment. The demons had flown backwards through the air, landing a few feet from him.

The Doctor spun around and looked up the incline, his eyes adjusting quickly to the outline of Merlin's silhouette. He saw the shadow's head turn in his direction, and the Doctor didn't need words to know what Merlin was asking of him. He remembered his promise.

"Merlin!" Arthur called, starting to run up the hill. Before he passed him, the Doctor caught him by the arm and held him back.

"He'll meet us at the forest," the Doctor lied, and he pulled Arthur in that direction. Arthur was led easily, but his eyes were still trained up the hill.

At the same time, Sherlock and John were dragging Sam towards the trees, and Dean, Cas, and Clara were flanking them. Gwaine trotted beside the group. The Doctor led Arthur their way.

"He's not coming," Arthur was saying, and he was starting to put up some resistance.

The Doctor saw four of the demons begin to stir. Soon, they were back on their feet and headed towards the trees.

There was a flash, and a line of flames appeared between the demons and the rest of the group.

"Hey!" Merlin called, his voice carried in the wind. The demons turned towards it.

"What the hell is he doing?" Arthur breathed.

"Morgana wants Emrys! And you're going the wrong way!"

Merlin turned away and ran out of sight, and the Doctor would have missed the demons disappearing into thin air if he'd blinked.

"_Merlin_!" Arthur yelled at the top of his voice. He slipped from the Doctor's grip and rushed towards the line of flames as though he was to go through it, but Dean held him back. He wrapped his arms around Arthur's torso and dragged him closer to the trees, despite Arthur's thrashing. Gwaine barked threateningly at Dean.

John and Clara swapped places in holding Sam up, and John rushed over to help Dean instead. Cas did too, and Dean relinquished Arthur into their hold.

"Get them both outta here!" Dean yelled to the others in general.

"Get off of me!" Arthur demanded as Cas and John dragged him back. Sherlock and Clara were already walking Sam into the trees.

"We'll find him," the Doctor told Arthur with resolve. "Stick to your plan. Find your neighbors and get them to safety. We won't leave him, I _promise_."

Arthur looked at the Doctor warily, but he stopped struggling enough for Cas and John to weaken their hold. Arthur shook them off and turned to the trees. They all disappeared into the shadow, leaving the Doctor, Dean, and Gwaine behind. They paused only momentarily to let the fire die down completely before running up the hill. Shortly after, they found Merlin standing in the front garden of someone's house, holding his palm up in warning, as the demons got closer.

Thinking quickly, the Doctor pointed the sonic at a streetlamp close by. The metal snapped and it crashed in the demon's path, the bulb sending out sparks as it burst.

Dean's gun went off four times, making the shots count. Merlin raised his palm again, and three plums of smoke shot up and left their vessels to rot.

"You ever heard of a plan, kid?" Dean barked, and so did Gwaine.

Merlin stepped over the lamppost's railing and a limp body as he approached them.

"Ever heard of a plan B?" he answered. He stopped walking when he came face to face with the Doctor. "Thank you, old friend," he said, as though he hadn't just forced the Doctor's hand.

The Doctor's jaw muscles tightened in frustration, and he help up a stiff finger to Merlin's face.

"_Don't_ make me to that again," he said in an empty warning, and Merlin smirked.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight.**

"So much for catching up with the others," Dean huffed, pacing in circles. He and the Doctor were huddled around a small fire that Merlin had lit between two trees. "We shouldda gone straight to the Tardis like you said, but _no_. We had to save the whole freakin' town!"

"What do you suggest we'd done otherwise?" the Doctor said. "Watch an entire town die?"

"Well, of course we had to help!" Dean said bitterly. "Because we're all insane!"

"Dean," the Doctor warned.

Dean stopped pacing and sighed. He plopped down next to the fire.

"We'll find Sam and Castiel," the Doctor assured him. "_And_ Arthur. They couldn't have gotten far. They could be with the rest of the town, and they're just waiting for us to catch up."

"They've got Sherlock," Dean grumbled, poking at the fire with a twig. "I'm sure they've rounded up the neighbors _and_ found a place to stay by now. The freak . . ."

The Doctor turned to Merlin, who was leaning against one of the tree trunks, half-shrouded in darkness, his back facing the group and his eyes peering into the brush. Gwaine was sitting at his heels, attentively watching the trees, too. The Doctor moved to stand next to him, but Merlin didn't acknowledge his presence for a few moments.

"We will _find_ Arthur," the Doctor repeated, placing a palm on Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin didn't look at him, and there was a long pause before the Doctor decided to give up and rejoin Dean, but Merlin stopped him just as he was about to walk away. He whispered, "I knew this was going to happen."

The Doctor stood next to him again and smiled softly. "You couldn't have."

"There's time for hindsight now, Doctor."

"But there's no use in it."

"I should have been ready. I said I'd get it right this time," Merlin insisted. "Kilgharrah said that Arthur would rise when Albion needed him most. I always thought that meant something horrible was going to happen, and I was right. But Arthur had been back for so long, and nothing—," he gulped, and looked down at his trainers. "I hoped—"

He stared blankly into space, and shook his head. His hopes didn't matter.

"We all hoped," the Doctor said. "But this isn't your fault. You couldn't have known the demons would come, especially tonight."

Merlin looked at him at last, guilt in his eyes. "But I could have," he said. "Right before that demon appeared in my house, I saw this creature—this—_thing_—right outside my window. I thought I'd dreamt it up somehow. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before."

The Doctor looked at him quizzically. "What did this creature look like?"

Merlin considered the question, trying hard to recall the visage of the shadow. Again, it gave him a small headache in the effort it took, but bits and pieces came to mind. "I don't know; it's foggy," he said, rubbing the tired out of an eye. "It was tall and thin. Gray skin, vats for eyes." He shrugged, and then remembered the strangest thing about the creature. He focused again on the Doctor. "It was wearing a suit."

In an unguarded moment, the Doctor looked terrified. This in turn terrified Merlin, and he stood up straight and uncrossed his arms.

"Doctor?" he said. "What is it?"

"You _remember_ this creature?" the Doctor said, loudly enough to catch Dean's attention. Even Gwaine's ears shot up.

Merlin nodded hastily at the question. "Why wouldn't I?"

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair and took a few steps closer to the fire. "Oh, this is bad," he was muttering. "We thought Morgana was bad, but this adds a whole new layer to the cake—a whole new layer of _bad_." He stopped walking and stared into the darkness in thought. "I wanted to be wrong . . . _No_!" He smacked his forehead. "Stupid Doctor! I'm never wrong."

"Doc?" Dean implored, cutting him off. "What is it?"

The Doctor gestured to Merlin. "They're called the Silence," he said clearly, before again muttering under his breath, "Silence will fall when the Once and Future King rises."

"What? Silence?" Dean asked, looking confused. "Not demons?"

"Aliens," the Doctor corrected. "Sort of."

Speaking quickly, he continued, "They're an order, not so much a race. They're called Silents—genetically engineered so that you forget them as soon as you look away. They're peaceful—they're _priests_—but some of them went rouge. They've been on Earth since before humans, shaping you—influencing you. That's what they do. They try to take away your free will—plant ideas in your head, and you'll just think it was your idea because you forget them completely when you look away. John _did_ hear someone talking to the Deputy Prime Minister, he just doesn't remember the other half of it. And the terror attacks—they were demonic possessions at all."

He turned back to Merlin and held up his palms in a gesture.

"Your magic must be retaining the image."

"And Morgana?" Merlin asked. "She can remember?"

"Yes," the Doctor reasoned. "Her magic is the same as yours, and I don't think she needs much influencing. She and the Silence must have a deal."

"What about the demons?" Dean asked. "They remember?"

"We have to assume they do," the Doctor told them. "That gives her the upper hand . . ."

"But why try to reshape humanity?" Merlin asked, shaking his head in thought. "What's the end-game?"

The Doctor froze, looking guilty. "Me," he confessed at last. "The sect that broke away—the Silence. They're dedicated to _my_ silence. They're trying to kill me before my time. Make sure I never reach the end of my line."

Merlin's expression went hard, trying not to let his emotion show. He'd seen so many people die, but sometimes it was still hard to believe the Doctor would ever follow them.

"Why?"

The Doctor let out a breath. "I wish I knew."

"Okay, wait," Dean said, standing up and holding up his palm. "You're saying all this is so that some holy rollers can kill _you_?"

They allowed the Doctor a beat to think, and he decided on, "I don't think so. This is grand, even for the Silence. There's something we're not seeing."

Gwaine started to growl from next to Merlin, and everyone looked up as though expecting to see one of those horrible creatures in the flesh, but instead two people walked into the light of the fire. It was a middle-aged woman and a young child Merlin recognized as the boy who had knocked on his door on the day of Arthur's rising. Both people looked shaken to the bone.

"Down, Gwaine," Merlin ordered, and the dog stopped barking, but looked at the two newcomers with distrust.

"I told you it was people, Mum," said the boy, tugging at his mother's sleeve. She looked almost as wary as Gwaine. "We saw your fire through the trees, and I didn't think those things would build fires."

"No, no they wouldn't," the Doctor confirmed. "Good boy." He smiled down at the boy, but his expression fell when his eyes met the mother.

"You were fighting those—those things," she said, her voice exhausted. "You were part of that group. I saw you all. But could you . . . could you save anyone?"

The group exchanged solemn glances. They didn't even check to see if any of the vessels had survived.

"You knew one of them?" Merlin asked softly, and the woman nodded.

"My husband," she said, and the boy beside her no longer looked proud of himself. "But there was smoke and—Heavens, what were those things!" Silent tears started to spill from her eyes, but she attempted strength for her son.

"Hey, hey now," the Doctor cooed, taking a chance and putting a comforting hand on her arm. She did not recoil. "Listen, hey—I'm the Doctor. These are my friends, Dean and Merlin. What are your names?"

The woman's brows furrowed in puzzlement when the Doctor introduced Merlin by name, but she managed to shake the confusion out of her head long enough to say, "Melissa."

"I'm James," the boy offered, and Melissa wrapped her arm around his shoulders tighter.

"Melissa, James," the Doctor said with a nod to each of them. "What are you doing out here on your own, Melissa and James? You must have seen where your neighbors were running off to?"

Melissa wiped her cheeks and nodded. "We were with them—and people from another village," she said. "We're not alone. We got a group together to look for wood to start a fire. I offered to help, but I couldn't let James leave my side . . . But we would freeze to death if we didn't get a fire going. Or at least that's what he said."

This piqued Merlin's interest. "Who?"

"Your friend!" James answered, and Merlin felt his heart leap. "The bloke who lives with you."

Melissa nodded. "Everyone was panicked," she said and, with mild fondness in her voice, added, "He took charge."

Merlin didn't miss a beat. "Where?"

* * *

"Sam, are you _sure_ you're alright?" Cas asked for what felt like the thousandth time, making Sam roll his eyes.

"Dude, I'm _fine_," he insisted. "You're starting to sound like Dean, ya know?"

If Sam didn't know better, he'd say Cas was pulling a worried a face. He sighed and stood up from the chair he was sitting in, and Cas held his hands up a little too urgently, ready to catch Sam if he stumbled. Sam shot him a furrowed brow and walked the length of the small observation loft.

They had found an old abandoned watermill at the edge of the forest, sitting atop the lake. Sherlock said the place was a gristmill that had been built sometime in the seventeenth century, but had been out of commission for over a hundred years. Thick trees covered the large, moss-ridden stone building on its other three sides, giving them enough camouflage. Then again, it ensured they wouldn't be able to see any demons coming. But the work floor below was large enough to fit a group of their size, so it was a good makeshift camp.

He watched the throng of people below, some of them picking out places on the floor to rest, lit by the fire in the large stone furnace on the far side of the room. Arthur had sent two groups out to collect wood earlier. So far only one had returned, allowing them to get a fire started. Sam was thankful for that, at least, because the old building was drafty and the furnace warmed up the entire mill in no time.

Sam scanned the crowd, picking out Clara. Under Arthur's instruction, she'd led a group outside to the lake to get fresh water. She was now back, distributing it to men and women with a comforting, warm smile on her face. She seemed to cheer some of them up, if only a little.

Close by her, walking through the group, was Arthur. He clocked every face as he passed it, taking in their condition with a set expression. From time to time, he would stop to talk to or aid someone. He'd even bent down to pick up a doll for a young girl when she dropped it. But the rest of the time he stayed silent and observant, making his rounds with his hand resting gently on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

When he passed by John and Sherlock, Sam's attention was directed to them. John was tending to some of the people's wounds as best he could without supplies, and Sherlock was playing nurse. Sam was impressed. John had made slings and braces out of twigs and ripped fabric. He'd cleaned out wounds with boiled lake water and salt. He even tried to tend to Sam when they'd first gotten to cover, but it turned out he didn't need to.

Sam touched the bloodstained fabric of his shirt over where his supposed wound had been. Arthur said he'd been stabbed, but Sam didn't recall that happening. He remembered fighting the demon, and he remembered getting beaten up pretty badly after he's lost the knife. But then he, for all in tense and purposes, blacked out. All he remembered were flashes of being carried through the woods—and lots of pain. He thought the beating caused the memory loss, but that didn't explain the concentrated patch of blood on his shirt. It didn't make sense.

He heard a creak to his left and knocked himself out of his thoughts, and he looked over to find Arthur coming up the rickety ladder to the loft.

"How are you?" he asked as soon as he was upright.

Sam flapped his arms at his side in frustrated defeat.

"I'm fine," he said, trying not to sound too agitated by the coddling. "How's everyone else holdin' up?"

Arthur took in a breath and looked down at the crowd below.

"They're managing."

Sam kept watching him, and after a moment an incredulous look passed over Arthur's face. It perplexed Sam until he followed Arthur's line of vision to the main entrance. The large, double doors had opened up for the second group of firewood collectors. They each had sticks and branches piled high in their arms, and they carried them to the furnace, but there were more people than had originally left. The newcomers were accompanied by a familiar yapping as Gwaine barked happily at the neighbors he recognized.

A smirk broke Sam's features, and a breath of laughter escaped his throat.

"Dean!" Sam called, waving with both hands over his head at his brother, the Doctor, and Merlin.

"Dean?" Cas asked at once, and he rushed to Sam's side.

Dean looked around at first to locate the source of shout and, once he found it, he pointed the Doctor and Merlin the right direction. They slowly pushed their way through the group of people, and Sherlock, John, and Clara must have noticed their presence, too, because they started moving towards the ladder. They greeted each other happily at its base before climbing up.

Dean was the first person up, and Sam clasped his hand to pull him to his feet once he was at the top of the ladder.

"Ah, Sammy, long time no see," Dean said with an infectious smile. He clapped Sam on the shoulder playfully, but Sam knew that Dean was really searching him up and down to make sure he was alright. Dean must have been satisfied with Sam's state, because he moved on to Cas.

The others trickled up, brought up by Merlin in the rear; and once he had reached the top, he went straight to Arthur.

"Thought you'd never see me again?" Sam heard Merlin say.

"It was a passing hope," Arthur told him, trying not to smile.

From the bottom of the ladder, Gwaine was barking and whimpering, his front paws on the second rung.

"Stay, Gwaine," Merlin called down, and the dog grunted and turned back to the crowd. When Arthur left his side, Merlin turned to Sam, his brows darting upwards. "I didn't expect to find you standing."

Sam shrugged. "Here I am."

"You were stabbed."

"Yeah, guess not," Sam said, even though he wasn't so convinced, either. He looked back down at his bloodied shirt. "No entry wound. Just a little soreness—_hah_—everywhere."

Dean appeared at Sam's side, smiling brightly. "You'd think you could stand up to a few punches, huh, Sammy?" he said, and there was something forced in his voice, but Sam chose to overlook it. He knew Dean was probably trying to lighten their entire situation with humor, so Sam responded accordingly by rolling his eyes. Merlin, however, regarded Dean skeptically.

"So, uh, nice digs," Dean said, changing the conversation.

"For now," Arthur said, wandering back over. "Merlin, did you find anything else in the forest?"

"No," Merlin said, "but there is something."

Merlin led them towards the Doctor, who explained his theory of the Silence. When he was finished, Arthur nodded as he processed the new information and turned his gaze on the work floor beneath them.

"We have to tell them something," he said.

"That aliens from outer space have teamed up with demons?" Sherlock chided. He gestured towards the ladder. "By all means."

Arthur paused momentarily, but then he squared his shoulders and began his descent. Merlin, Sam, Dean, and the Doctor followed him down, but the others stayed put, except to stand closer to the edge of the overlook.

Arthur made his way to the large wooden grinder in the center of the room and climbed on top of it, using it as a makeshift pedestal to get the crowd's attention. Sam stood in between Dean and Merlin, who had the Doctor on his other side, as they crowded around the base of the grinder.

Save for a few confused glances, no one paid Arthur any attention at first and they continued talking. Arthur looked like he wasn't sure what to do, and Sam realized he was probably used to entire halls falling silent, ready to hang on his every word, at the very sight of him.

There was a loud whistle from above, and the room suddenly went quite. Sam looked up and saw Sherlock lowering his fingers from his lips and refolding his arms behind his back. Sherlock looked at John, who was standing next to him and shaking his head back with a deadpan expression, and shrugged innocently.

Arthur cleared his throat, and the room's attention shifted to him.

"Yes, thank you," he said, softly at first. Then he straightened out and took command of his voice.

"I know many of you have questions, and I—my friends and I—," he gestured in Sam's general direction, "—will answer them to the best of our abilities, but—"

The chattered started up at once, much louder this time and all of it directed at Arthur. Most of it was indistinct, but amongst it Sam heard questions like, "How do we know we're safe here?" or "When can we go home?" or "Is this what happened in London?"

Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking from face to face as though he was unsure what question to answer first.

One man's voice sounded over the others, demanding, "What were those things?"

Suddenly, there was a chorus of the same question from some as others nodded in solidarity, wishing for that question to be answered first.

"What do you mean, what were they? That was my husband!" one woman shouted back the man.

"That _wasn't_ my wife!" said someone else, a burly man with a thick beard.

"No!" Arthur said in agreement, gesturing towards the man. "No, it was not. Not anymore, I'm afraid."

"Then, what were they?" yelled a woman close by.

Arthur squared his jaw before saying, "They were demons."

Noise filled the room again and, next to Sam, Merlin's chest inflated in a sigh.

"I understand how that sounds," Arthur said honestly, trying to regain order.

"Do you? Because it's mad!" shouted the same woman as before. "And why should we listen to you? Who are you?"

"I am Arthur Pendragon," he said, and this time there was no response other than utter silence and incredulous faces.

"I understand how that sounds, too," said Arthur, sounding awkward for only a moment. But he used the quiet to power through.

"It doesn't matter who I am or what they are," he began. "What matters is, they may be back. We have to be ready for that. If there is a way to return your loved ones to you, we will find it; but first, we must protect the ones we can: your children, your neighbors, your friends. We have to work together to survive. We need to keep the fire going," he went on, gesturing to the furnace. "And we'll need groups to build latrines and continue collecting water. We'll also need volunteers for defense and for the watch. If you want to help, tell one of these men—," he pointed at Sam, Dean, Merlin, and the Doctor without breaking eye contact with the crowd, "—and they will assign you to a group.

"Tomorrow, some of us will venture back into town for food, medical supplies, and clothing," he continued. "If there's anything else—any personal items—you wish to have, let me know, and I will ensure they get to you."

He paused, opening the floor for more questions, but none came, so he turned away and stepped off the grinder. As he did, the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves, casting glances Arthur's way.

"That certainly could have gone better," Arthur said, sounding a little discomfited.

"It went well," Sam only half-lied.

"You got them to listen," Merlin offered.

"Yeah, or at least _hear _you," the Doctor said, folding his hands together with a smile, as though what he said had helped. Arthur wrinkled his nose at him.

"It was fine," Dean assured him shortly. "Let's just start rounding some people up to get this place protected. Me, Sammy, and Cas'll lay some salt down and ward it."

Arthur nodded at this, and then looked to Merlin. "Have you any protection spells?"

"I'll see to it," Merlin ensured him.

Three people approached them: Melissa, James, and the burly man from the crowd. Arthur looked at them as though he hadn't expected anyone to come within a yard of him after that particular speech.

"We'd like to help," Melissa said, placing her hand on James' shoulder. "I don't know about heading back into the forest for wood again, but we can help fetch the water."

"And I'll sign up for defense," the man said. "I'm part of the village police here, figure I could be of some use."

This seemed to encourage Arthur. "You will be," he said. "Thank you."

As the night went on, more people offered their help, signing up for all the groups. By sunrise, they had up to a dozen men and women on the watch, and it was enough of a safety blanket for a quiet to fall over the mill and for people to fall asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine.**

A blonde woman walked through the tangle of trees, the soles of her shoes turning the dead leaves beneath them to dust with each step. In a flash, she was deeper into the woods, etching an unseen marking into the bark of one of the trunks. Blood dripped from her closed fist and the ground around her glowed an intense gold, and the woman began to transform . . .

"Merlin!"

He woke with a start, and the first things that came into focus were Sam's concerned eyes. His hand was still squeezing Merlin's arm, first to shake him awake and then to grasp him back into reality.

"Hey, man, you okay?" Sam wondered.

Merlin's mouth felt like cotton. "Yeah," he managed to say in a mumble. "Dreaming."

"Yeah, I can see that," Sam said with a snort, giving Merlin's arm a pat before releasing it entirely. He stood up. "Some of us are headed back into town for supplies," he went on. "You in?"

Merlin nodded quickly and sat up from where he was sleeping on the floor of the loft, having used his jacket as a pillow. "I'll be there in a few minutes," he assured Sam.

Sam furrowed his brow at Merlin, giving him one last sweeping glance before nodding back and leaving him alone.

Merlin let out a deep exhale and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He could feel his magic bubbling right beneath his skin, his muscles aching to release it. His fingertips buzzed with static. It was all the aftermath of his dream.

But it didn't feel like a dream. It felt more like a vision—one that was long overdue, but that was to be expected. They happened so rarely to him, and when they did they came in jumbled bits and pieces. Although, he could have sworn this one was familiar, like a half-remembered memory or a misplaced childhood reverie.

He scrambled to his feet and made his way down the ladder. He passed through the bustling crowd on the work floor and headed towards the main doors, which were open to let the breeze in.

He stopped right before the entrance and peered out uneasily at the line of trees, whose branches blocked out the rays of the sun. Merlin felt another surge of magic reach his heart as he looked at the woods. Something was out there, and he was eager to find it.

* * *

More demons had been sent to the town overnight, but not enough to be problematic. Dean and Sam took care of them easily, and afterwards they spread out to make sure none were left. However, Arthur was wary about any remainders scouting the forest, so they rushed to grab as much as they could from the houses. They filled backpacks, duffle bags, and luggage with the basics: clothes, water bottles, blankets, an array of foods and uncooked meats, utensils and plates, and medicines. Then there were the not so basics, like books for entertainment and kibble for the pets.

In one house, someone found fishing poles; in another, there was hunting equipment. They loaded up all the salt they could find, as well as iron. Next, they disposed of the dead.

Finally, they completed the list of requests given to Arthur: stuffed animals and toys, a few diaries, instruments, and various other comforting personal items. After awhile, they ran out of room for these nonessentials, but Arthur demanded they find a way to bring them to camp.

They arrived back at the mill at around midday, and the people exuberantly claimed their treasures and passed out clothes and blankets. Food was cooked and rationed, but even so a large dent was made in their supply. It would last them two more days, at most.

"We'll have to travel further next time, perhaps find a market," Arthur said in passing, mentally adding it to the long list of things he needed to take care of. Merlin had a list of his own.

After he'd finished his lunch, Merlin found Arthur on the loft, pouring over a map of the area they'd found in one of the homes, searching for another town close by that they might scavenge. Dean, Sam, and John were there as well, feeding scraps of their sandwiches to a yapping Gwaine.

Merlin placed half of his own sandwich on the map in front of Arthur. He knew Arthur well enough to know he wouldn't have eaten yet—not when there were other people to feed and still so much to do.

"You need to eat," Merlin told him and, without much protest besides a roll of his eyes, Arthur pointedly picked up the sandwich and took a large bite out of it before replacing it and turning back to the map. Merlin stood his ground.

"Something the matter, Merlin?" Arthur said after a few moments, conscious of Merlin's eyes on him.

"No."

There was a beat.

"I'm going into the forest," Merlin told him at last.

Arthur let out a sigh and turned his full attention on Merlin. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I'm telling you," Merlin said, vaguely aware of the other three men eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Absolutely not," Arthur said dismissively. "Demons could be patrolling it. I can't have you leading them to us."

Merlin leaned in, placing his palms on the surface of the map to obstruct Arthur's view of it. "I'm good at keeping my head down. It's only the forest," Merlin assured him innocently. "I won't go out of the tree line. I promise."

"Now, why don't I believe you?"

"I can take care of myself," Merlin countered. "No one's done a thorough sweep of the woods. We don't know how safe we are here, Arthur. There could be something we've missed. I'll be back by sundown."

He didn't want to tell Arthur of his dream—of the real reason he wanted to venture into the woods, to find that tree the woman had carved into. He didn't yet know what it meant, and it would only worry Arthur further.

However, Arthur didn't seem any less reluctant to send Merlin off into the woods, no matter how begging Merlin's eyes were. So Merlin was grateful when Sam stepped up behind him, clasping a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"I'll go with," he told Arthur with a smile. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

Arthur breathed out, considering. His eyes never left Merlin's. "Then you'll have your hands full," he told Sam, looking back down at the map, but Merlin noted that Arthur was slightly relieved by Sam's offer.

He gave a preoccupied wave of his hand.

"Go."

* * *

They were getting too deep into the forest, and Sam didn't know if he wanted to risk another step in that direction. If they were spotted by one of Morgana's mooks, they would no doubt be caught with their proverbial pants down. They'd been lucky so far, but it was an hour to sundown, which would bring a whole different ballgame.

Sam didn't even know what Merlin was looking for. He tried to ask him, but Merlin only said, "I'll know it when I see it," which told Sam he wasn't too sure what they were doing so far out, either. Sam trusted him, but he was pretty sure they should have found whatever it was by now.

He was just about to suggest they turn around when he saw Merlin freeze in place, his eyes wide and searching. Sam cocked his head towards him.

"Somethin' up?" Sam wondered.

"There's magic," Merlin said. "I can sense it. It's something I haven't felt in awhile: powerful magic." He took a few steps passed Sam. "It feels like . . ." He looked around at the trees, and Sam watched Merlin wiggle his fingers as though he were trying to get a feel for something but couldn't quite place what it was. "Morgana."

"What?" Sam hissed, automatically getting into fighting position. "She's here?"

"No," Merlin said loftily. "It's just an echo."

Instantly, Merlin turned his head to the side, his face stern. Sam followed his gaze slowly, but was met with nothing but tree trunks, fallen leaves, and a view of the lake in the distance below.

"This way," Merlin said, starting in the direction in which he was looking. "Keep your eyes peeled."

Sam followed him for a few minutes, sometimes fanning out to cover the whole perimeter, making sure to keep his eyes open for anything unusual. His knife was raised and he waved it with every benign snapping of a twig, until he finally heard Merlin say in a loud whisper, "Sam?"

Sam closed the few feet between them. Merlin was standing in front of a large tree, studying its bark intently. He ran his fingers over a symbol cut into the trunk: a snaked curve with two lines running horizontally through the center. Sam looked at the base of the tree and noted the black char marks on it.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, withdrawing his hand from the sigil.

Sam studied it closer. It looked familiar.

"Huh," he thought aloud. "I've only seen this in books."

Merlin shook his head in wonder. "So, what is it?" he asked again.

"It's used to raise corpses," Sam told him. "Not like zombies or anything. It's for when you want to put a soul back into its body, but the body's dead. This helps bring it back to life."

Merlin ground his teeth. "Morgana was here."

"You think this is how the Silence brought her back? Kinda strange for aliens to use this, isn't it? Maybe it was one of the demons?"

Merlin considered this, and then shook his head decidedly. "I can only feel her magic." He crouched down and inspected the burn marks on the base of the tree.

Sam brought his gaze back to the marking and got an idea. "Maybe it was just her, then. Maybe she brought herself back. That might make sense," he said, "if she was riding someone else."

"What?"

"This sigil—it's demonic."

Merlin's eyes went wide again. "Morgana's a _demon_?"

Sam shrugged. "Explains why demons are following her. They kinda don't like to stray from the pack."

"She was the one recruiting," Merlin realized, but he shook his head after a pause. "Something doesn't add up." He rose to his feet. "Why ally herself with the Silence?"

"Well, maybe she couldn't break out of Hell? She's been there for a while," Sam reasoned. "I mean, maybe she was so deep in the Pit that she needed help getting out. Then, along come the Silence to make her a deal."

"You think they can do that?"

Sam shrugged. "No idea. I mean, they couldda gone through one of her recruits to get to her at first, right? The Doc said they'd been here for centuries, so they had time to figure it out. Who knows how long this has been in the making?"

Merlin nodded in agreement. "Did you hear anything about her—while you were in Hell, I mean?"

Sam laughed ruefully. "Trust me, I was in a deeper part than she was." Then a thought struck him: "But Dean mighta . . ."

* * *

"Sonovabitch," Dean breathed out, shaking his head at his own stupidity.

"What did you fail to observe this time?" Sherlock said off-handedly, and John shot him a warning glare that really did nothing at all to Sherlock's smugness. Dean overlooked the comment regardless.

"What?" Merlin asked.

"While I was doin' my time," Dean started, "I heard these whispers." He looked at Sam. "Never from Allastor; he was a Lucifer loyalist. But sometimes, when he would leave, I would hear what was happenin' with the other souls on the rack." He looked down at the wooden planked floor of the loft, but his eyes were staring into space at images that were usually reserved for the darkest nights.

"When demons were torturing them, they would give those poor bastards a choice: stay on the rack, or get off and serve _her_ . . ." His gaze met Cas' fleetingly. "Didn't stick around long enough to find out who _she_ was, but . . ."

"You think they were speaking of Morgana?" Arthur implored.

"I dunno," Dean said distantly. "But I saw a lotta people get off the rack, choosin' to fight for her. So, if it was her recruiting, and she's been down there, building up an army since the dark ages, then she could have hundreds of demons working for her."

"Thousands," the Doctor agreed.

"All of them with vessels," Sherlock chimed in, "thanks to demons like Celeste Montgomery."

"And the vessels they've taken by force," said John.

"Enough men to wage a war," Merlin said, his eyes drifting to Arthur, but Arthur didn't notice.

"Well, there's one way to be sure," Sam said vaguely, and Dean met his eyes with confusion before reading the look on Sam's face and knowing exactly what he meant.

"No way," Dean barked instantly.

"What is it?" said Arthur.

"If Morgana was down in Hell with a plan, there's someone who'd know about it," Sam explained before looking back to Dean. "He could give us some answers, Dean."

"Anyone want to fill the rest of us in?" John piped up, sounding slightly agitated.

"He means Crowley," said Cas.

"Crowley?" Sherlock asked ponderingly. "I've come across that name in my research. He's a demon."

"King of Hell, actually," Dean corrected him. "Currently out of commission."

Sam clarified, "We have him locked up in the dungeon."

To this, he was met with strange looks, and Clara asked in skepticism, "You have a _dungeon_?"

Despite the moment, Dean gave a prideful smirk. "I know, right." But his expression dropped again when he looked at Sam. "But no way. No. I ain't lookin' for his help."

"Maybe Dean's right," Clara offered off Arthur's thoughtful look. "He's a demon. He can't be trusted, can he?"

"_Hell no_!" Dean shot back, happy that someone was finally talking sense.

"But he _could_ provide answers, Dean," Cas said.

"It is the first real lead we have," the Doctor mused.

"And we'll take it," Arthur said before looking around the huddle. "Are we agreed?"

There was slight hesitation, but Dean soon found that everyone but himself was nodding in solidarity. He threw his head back and groaned.

"_Fine_!" he conceded, and then turned to Clara. "You still got that supercharged phone of yours?"

She nodded and fished for it in her pocket. "Not much battery left," she told him, checking the home screen. "Only about twenty-percent. It should only be enough for one more call."

Dean held his palm out. "Can I use that call?"

She bit her lip in thought, and he hated asking her, because he knew what that call meant: it was the difference between finally getting in touch with her family or staying in the dark about their whereabouts. But she placed the phone in his hand.

He dialed a call to the United States and put it on speaker, holding it out in the center of the group. It rang a few times before the call was picked up and an unsure voice said, "Hello? Is this the pizza guy?"

Sam threw his arms up in defeat as Dean rolled his eyes and licked his lips in frustration. Meanwhile, Cas narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Kev, how many times do I have to tell you? No pizza deliveries to the _secret bunker_!" Dean scolded. "You got plenty'a leftovers in the fridge!"

"_Dean_!" yelled Kevin, sounding astonished. "I've been trying to get through to you guys for like, two days."

Dean furrowed his brow, suddenly concerned. It was a regular occurrence for Sam and Dean to disappear from the bunker for days at a time while on a case. Kevin never made a big deal of it before.

"Why? What's the matter?"

"What's the matter!" Kevin repeated with his normal, over-exaggerated emphasis. "Have you even _looked_ at a TV? You don't know what's happening over in the UK?"

Dean puckered his lips. "Trust me, I got a good idea," he said. "We're over here now—me, Sammy, and Cas."

"Hey, Kevin," Sam chimed in, but Kevin didn't even seem to hear him.

"_Holy crap_," he muttered over the line, sounding panicked. "That's—that's not good. I mean, the news says Obama's trying to send some jets over. They're saying it's terrorists but—I mean, it's not terrorists, right? I looked at a thermo map online—," Dean heard the shuffling of papers and Kevin get up from his chair to run somewhere else, "—and there are some _major_ omens. It's demonic, isn't it? It's probably demonic—"

"Alright, slow down," Dean finally interrupted when he gave up on getting a word in edgewise. He often wondered how Kevin could rant like that without taking a breath. "Take a Xanax."

Kevin sighed. "I ran out."

The symbol that represented the battery life on the screen turned red, and Dean realized it was time to speed things along.

"Look, I don't have a lot of time, okay?" he said into the receiver. "I'm gonna need you to do somethin' for us." He let out a breath and paused, knowing Kevin wasn't going to like what came next. "I need you to put Crowley on the phone."

Just as Dean predicted, a loud "WHAT" came from the speaker.

Dean ran a hand down his face as Kevin started on a new rant: "After what he did? You think I can go in there without wanting to kill him—I'll kill him, Dean, I will!"

He sounded more afraid than threatening, but Dean knew Kevin spoke with conviction.

"You don't even have to get too close to him, Kev," Sam spoke up, trying to calm him down. "Just stand in the doorway and put it on speaker."

"Yeah, but you gotta hurry up 'cos we're almost outta battery," Dean told him.

There was a pause until Kevin let out another sigh.

"Alright, fine," he said, giving in. "But you owe me."

"Apparently, we just bought you a pizza," Dean reminded him.

If eye rolls made a sound, Dean was pretty sure he'd be hearing one at that moment.

"Gimme a sec," Kevin said, and they heard footsteps from the speaker. Soon, there was the sound of several heavy doors creaking open and slamming shut under their own weight.

"He's uh—he's going to the dungeon," Dean whispered to the others, trying not to sound overly boastful. They all made faces that politely signaled they weren't very impressed.

After they heard the last door open, they heard a gravelly English accent say, "Well, well, well; Kevin Tran. I was expecting Thelma and Louise. It must be Christmas."

"He's just the messenger boy," Dean said so that Kevin wouldn't have to say a word. "You're talkin' to us."

"I get a phone call," Crowley said, and they heard the rattling of his chains as he shifted. "Looks like it's Christmas _and _my birthday. Hello, boys."

"Yeah, hi," Dean said, trying to get to the point. "Now, listen good, we need some information."

"Not a social call, then?" said Crowley. "Well, as much as it pleases me to get you two out of tight spots, I have to ask what's in it for me?"

"How 'bout we don't chop your nads off?" Dean barked.

They could hear Crowley tutting. "You know I love it when you talk dirty."

"Alright, how about this," Sam interfered before Dean got too heated. "We put a TV in there with you so you can watch as many _Girls_ marathons as you want?"

Crowley hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds riveting," he answered sarcastically. "Lay it on me."

"Ever heard of a demon called Morgana?" Sam asked.

"_Pendragon_?" asked Crowley as though he had expected any question but that.

"Uh—Yeah," Sam said. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Anythin' you can tell us about her?" Dean demanded.

Crowley let out a chuckle. "I could write tomes on her. She's been around a long time," he started. "Supposedly, she was one of the first powerful demons. She's a little bit of a legend—a High Priestess down in Hell. I've heard people say she skipped the rack and went right to torturing."

"That certainly sounds like Morgana," Arthur muttered.

"She was one of the lucky ones," Crowley went on. "Hand picked by Lucifer himself."

"Hand picked?" Dean repeated in question.

Sam swallowed hard. "What does that mean?"

Crowley's sighed in dejection, having expected them to figure it out for themselves. "She's not just any old demon, Moose. She's a Knight."

Sam and Dean froze.

"A Knight?" Merlin asked into the silence. "What does that mean, a Knight?"

"A Knight of Hell," Dean told him quickly, his eyes still on the phone as though he could see Crowley through it.

"_Ding_,_ ding_," Crowley said. "But it didn't take Lucifer long to figure out she wasn't as loyal as he'd thought. She had her own ambitions; but, by then, it was too late. She'd already gotten the upgrade. So he locked her up somewhere deep and dark and untouchable in the pits of Hell."

"Well, she broke out," Dean told him.

"She finally managed it, then?" he said dreamily. "Good timing, too, with Heaven in disarray. Almost like it was planned . . . Anyway, there were always rumors. I tried to snuff them out whenever possible—bad for business. But she was a tricky one. She always found a way."

"A way to what?" the Doctor asked, taking a step closer.

"To recruit," was the answer. "Turn demons to her cause."

"She _was_ building an army," Merlin interpreted.

Sam nodded before turning back to the phone. "Alright. Thanks," he said.

"I live to serve," Crowley said dryly. "And, remember, boys, we had a deal."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it," Dean huffed, and they heard Kevin close the door and lock it behind him.

Dean glanced up at the battery life icon again, seeing it only had ten-percent left.

"Alright, Kevin, listen up. You still got that recipe for the demon bomb?"

"Duh," Kevin said. "Why?"

"I'm gonna take you off speaker and give you to Cas," Dean said. "I want you give it to him."

"Dean, the ingredients are like, impossible to find. Half of them probably don't even exist anymore," Kevin reminded him. "How are you gonna get them?"

Dean rolled his eyes before glancing at the Doctor. "Time travel."

"Very funny," Kevin said, his tone matching the sarcasm he's misinterpreted in Dean's. Dean didn't correct him.

"Now, until me and Sammy get back, you stay on lockdown," he said instead. "Watch a few DVDs, flip through a skins mag. Anything goes wrong, call Sheriff Jody Mills. She'll help ya out, and we'll find a way to check up on you as soon as we can."

"Wait, what about Crowley?" Kevin asked uncertainly.

"Just keep doin' what you're doin'. Pretend like he's not even there."

"Okay, got it."

Dean hit the speaker button again and handed the phone to Cas, who said into it, "Hello . . . No, I don't have a pen. Is that the first ingredient . . .?"

"What's a Knight of Hell?" John asked as Cas wandered off to listen better.

"Basically a mega-demon," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "They're like archangels for Hell—Lucifer's big weapons. But they all got offed by the angels—well, _most_ of them." He met Dean's eyes for only a fleeting moment before continuing on, "But, if Lucifer couldn't trust her and made it so she couldn't get out, maybe the angels never knew about her. She was just left to rot in Hell."

"Yeah, and somehow she starts handin' out pamphlets, gettin' other demons to join her cause," Dean explained. "Then the Silence come along to break her out and, bam, you got a demon army a thousand years in the making topside."

"How do we kill them?" asked Sherlock.

"We don't," Dean answered. "They can't be killed—not with all the archangels gone."

Arthur couldn't accept that. "There must be a way."

"Arthur's sword?" Merlin ventured.

"Maybe," Sam shrugged. "But I wouldn't bet on it."

"Well, until we know for sure, I don't fancy being this close to where Morgana resurrected herself," the Doctor said. "It means she knows these woods better than we thought."

"We'll have to find somewhere else—preferably out of the way," Sherlock agreed as Cas came back over with the list of ingredients memorized. "Somewhere that can hold this many people."

"I couldn't agree more," Arthur said. He crossed over to map, which was now marked with circles and lines, and brought it back. "Tomorrow, I'll lead a small group out. There are a few towns where we could gain more supplies, and we may find people still residing there." He ran his finger along one of the lines on the map. "There are few remote locations we can look at. There may be places to relocate."

Folding the map, he said, "Sam, Castiel, John, and Clara—you'll come with me. Merlin, too, obviously."

"Wait, whoa," Dean stopped him, feeling his stomach drop. He licked his lips, trying to act natural—trying not to let his eyes dart between Sam and Cas. "Why not me?"

"The townspeople in the watch are helpful, but I need at least two people with knowledge about demons to stay here," Arthur said. "That's you and Sherlock."

"Well, yeah," Dean said weakly, thinking of an excuse. "But Cas does, too, right? I mean, why not keep him here instead? We can swap places."

He was aware of the strange looks the others were giving him, so he was grateful when Cas said, "I don't mind trading places if Dean wants to go that badly."

Dean let out a small, relieved breath.

Arthur shook his head in indifference. "Very well," he said. "Does anyone else have any more complaints?"

"One," the Doctor said, holding up a finger. "You got your group, and two demonic experts here."

"Yes."

"You forgot me."

"What?"

"_Me_!" the Doctor groaned. "You can't expect me to—to sit back all day!"

Arthur blinked at him. "That's precisely what I expect you to do."

The Doctor's face fell.

"He's right," Dean agreed. "You ain't goin' anywhere, Doc—not while the Silence are out for your head. Sorry, man, we gotta bench you."

"Wh—What?" the Doctor moaned. "But the demons will be looking for all of us!"

"Yes, demons," Arthur told him. "Which we can _remember_ and therefore defend ourselves against. The Silence are different, and we can't risk them getting their hands on you. You're not any use to us dead. I won't have you straying too far from camp. As you said before: safety first."

The Doctor hustled over to Arthur and got right into his face. "I don't do well _constrained_."

Arthur matched his glance. "Then we'll have to chain you up," he said pointedly. "Would you prefer that?"

The Doctor pointed a wavering finger at Arthur's face and stammered before finally settling on a reluctant, "No."

"Then I suggest you stay close," Arthur demanded. "The farthest you should go is back to town to collect your Tardis. Take Castiel with you when you do."

"Yeah, and get the demon bomb ingredients while you're at it," Dean reminded them. "The past is a different country, right?"

John snorted. "You can say that again."

"Good," Arthur said with finality. "Now, all of you, rest up. Merlin, make sure we have food and water packed for tomorrow, but only what we can spare. We leave at first light."

When the group broke, Dean descended the ladder and started towards the exit to go check on the watch. Like Arthur said, those who had signed up were helpful and brave, but they were in over their heads. Dean had taken it upon himself to help them out whenever he could, or at least to check up on them and make sure they were still breathing.

"Hey, Dean!" he heard Sam call when he was halfway to the door. He spun around to face him as Sam jogged up.

"I'm gonna help Merlin put some supplies together for tomorrow," he began. "He says we should try to get some fish from the lake so we don't have to take too much—"

Sam's eyes flashed a white-hot blue, and his entire posture became more rigid. The muscles in his face tensed and his gaze became fixed and piercing. Dean took an involuntary step backwards, and his mouth fell agape at the sight.

"I've given you more than enough time," Zeke said sternly. "Why is Castiel still here?"

Dean gulped, but held his ground. "What am I supposed to do? There's no way for him to get Stateside. It's not like he can just hop on a plane anymore."

"This island is big enough for him to put distance between us."

Dean's brows darted up in shock. "You're sayin' I should kick 'im out?" he asked. When Zeke glared at him pointedly, he continued, "No. No way. Not this time. He's gotta stick with us. He wouldn't last out there on his own, not without his mojo. Those demons have got all our numbers; they'll be lookin' for him."

"Demons aren't the _only_ ones looking for him," Zeke reminded him. "We had a deal: either he goes, or I do."

Dean turned away and ran his palm down his mouth, thinking hard. He couldn't allow Zeke to leave, not if it meant Sam would decay. But he couldn't have Cas' blood on his hands, either.

Then, an idea struck him.

"Lemme talk to the kid," he said, turning back to Zeke, who looked as though he wasn't following Dean's train of thought.

"What?"

"Merlin," Dean clarified. "Maybe he'll have some way of camouflaging you—or Cas—so you can't be detected or somethin'. I dunno, somethin' that'll make sure one of you can't be tracked."

"You would leave this in the hands of a _witch_?" Zeke said angrily. He sounded almost insulted.

"He's a sorcerer," Dean defended. "And he's the best at it. Look, I know this sounds fishy, but he's kosher. He'll know of something, you can bet on it."

"And if he refuses to help?"

"He won't," Dean said with conviction. Sam was worth every sacrifice Dean had ever made, and he knew that was something Merlin could appreciate. But the reason Dean gave was, "Him and Sam are like, best girlfriends. Merlin won't let 'im die. Just give me some time to talk to him, alright?"

Zeke squared his jaw and looked off in thought. After a pause, he said, "Fine. But I'm taking a risk here, Dean. Do not fail."

Dean's heartbeat picked up, and it pounded in his ears. "Yeah, you got it," he muttered, not able to meet Zeke's eyes.

Sam's eyes flashed again, and his posture returned to normal.

"—of the rations," he said as though the interruption hadn't just happened. His lips quirked into a smile. "Fishing's kinda you're secret thing or whatever, right? So, wanna give us a hand?"

Dean had only half-heard him, but tried to push a smile onto his face anyway.

"Uh, yeah," he said, not really sure what he was agreeing to. "Yeah, Sammy, I'll be right there. Just, uh, gimme a minute."

"Yeah, okay," Sam said, still smiling. "Sure."

Sam walked past him towards the exit, and Dean turned around to watch him go until he was out of sight.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten.**

The light of the sun was barely peeking through the forest's canopy by the time their group set out. They headed east, towards the small neighborhood whose residents had also abandoned their homes for the mill. However, it was only a row of large houses, each with a dock, and some with motorized fishing boats, on the lake. There were fewer corpses there, too, and Dean assumed that was because this neighborhood didn't put up a fight against the attackers like they did. They simply ran for cover in the trees.

However, there were still some unfortunate souls who were strewn about their manicured gardens, all of them now being picked apart by wildlife. Dean wrapped his arm around Clara's shoulders as she averted her eyes at first, but then they each set to work shooing the animals away and burning the bodies.

Since there were no markets or shops in the neighborhood, Arthur suggested they take what they could from the houses and move on. They stayed in the tree line as they continued on in the same direction as before, where apparently there was a village six miles away.

As they walked further from the lake, the forest would sometimes give way to a field or a road, but they tried to avoid open spaces as much as possible in case any scouts were in the vicinity. Whenever they did have to venture out of the shadows and walk along the roads, they were always completely deserted. Dean expected at least one car to whoosh passed or to feel the reverberating of approaching tires on the asphalt. He never did, and that unnerved him. Without words, he knew it made Sam anxious, too.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, they stopped for lunch and got a fire going to cook the fish Merlin and Sam had packed. Dean felt sore and exhausted from all the walking, but his gut felt hollow and heavy and he didn't think he had the stomach to eat. He walked around the perimeter of the campfire, gun in hand and eyes scanning every fallen leaf and twig.

Eventually, he felt a presence next to him, and looked over to find Merlin.

"Food's ready," he said, and Dean hummed in response, but said nothing. Merlin cocked his head. "Dean."

"I heard ya."

"I know you did," Merlin said, still studying him. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

Dean played dumb, but that empty feeling in his stomach dropped even further. "What are you talkin' about?"

Merlin looked over his shoulder at the others, and Dean had the strangest sensation that he was exclusively eyeing Sam, before turning back. "I'm talking about how you won't let Castiel within a foot of your brother without your supervision."

Dean licked his lips, remembering his promise to Zeke. This was the perfect in to tell Merlin, but it couldn't have come at a worse time. He couldn't have a discussion like that when other people were around, especially Sam.

"_What_?" he challenged. "Like when?"

Merlin scoffed. "Like last night. You nearly jumped out of your skin when Arthur picked the two of them to come today."

"Yeah, because I didn't wanna get stuck with the Doc when he's bored and McGruff the Crime Dog."

"No. Not with way you've been acting towards Sam . . . You're worried, and that worries _me_." He leaned in closer and dropped his voice. "Dean, if there's something wrong with him—"

"I dunno what the hell you're talkin' about," Dean cut him off a little too quickly, and Merlin leaned back again to give him some space.

"There's no need to be hostile," he said, scrutinizing Dean's features again.

"I'm _not_," Dean insisted. "That's my personality—shut up. And I'm hungry. Move."

Dean shoved passed him and joined the others around the fire.

After they finished their meal and snuffed out the flames, they continued onwards until they had no choice but to leave the forest behind and trek the last half-mile to the village on Arthur's map. They had to cross a motorway, too, and when they reached it, John voiced Dean's worry.

"Where are all the cars?" he muttered, turning around all the way as though trying to spot another living person. The only things in sight were three abandoned cars, two that crashed into each other and one that swerved into the ditch on side of the road, and skid marks. Shattered glass and broken metal sprinkled the tar around them.

"Where are all the _people_?" Sam continued off of him.

Dean squinted in the sunlight bouncing off the clouds to peer up and down the road. He felt a strange flashback to the time Zachariah sent him to the future, to what would happen if Dean didn't say the big Yes to Michael. He suppressed a shutter. This wasn't so far off from the prediction.

However, he was pretty sure post-apocalyptic worlds didn't have the familiar, drowned out rumbling of airplane engines. But he was hearing them.

Everyone immediately looked up to follow the noise, and they saw three military grade jets flying closely together, headed their way.

"Off the road!" Arthur ordered, and they all rushed to the grass and dove into the ditch, making themselves as hidden and small as possible. As they crouched, the jets zoomed over their heads.

"Those weren't British," said John as the sound of the engines quickly faded away, back into the din and the wind where no one noticed them, as it should be in any advanced part of the world.

"No, they weren't," Dean agreed, getting to his feet. "They were American."

"They're headed towards London," Clara thought aloud, but no one dwelled on the implications of that fact. Instead, they made their way off the motorway and headed down a side road that led to the nearby village.

The first part they entered was the village center: a roundabout with shops and services on all sides of the circle. There was a butcher shop, a pub, a small jewelry pawn shop, and a twenty-four hour gas station, to name a few. The road branched off on either side of the roundabout, leading both ways to the small houses or residential apartment buildings that made up the neighborhoods.

But all the houses and buildings looked dark. Again, they didn't see a single person. All they found were soaked newspapers sticking to the pavements and Styrofoam coffee cups rolling in the soft breeze. It was like a ghost town.

"Split up," Arthur said, as none of them commented on their solitude. "Check for people."

He, Merlin, and Sam took the row of houses on the right while Dean, Clara, and John headed left. They were on their fifth house when Dean was convinced the entire village had cleared out. Judging by the mess in the houses, they'd cleared out in a hurry.

He flipped the light switch in the living room up and down a few times, getting no results.

"Power's out in this one, too," he reported to Clara and John from the doorway. "Figures."

"No one's home, either," said John, peering around the room skeptically. "It makes you wonder where they've all gone."

"Dunno," Dean said, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall. "But it doesn't look like this place was attacked. No bodies, for starters. Plus, some of the houses were locked, like people thought they were comin' back."

"Aren't they?" Clara said optimistically. Then she put her hands on her hips and looked around, too. "Why would an entire town just leave? It doesn't make a bit of sense."

"Unless they were afraid they'd be attacked next," John offered. "Maybe we weren't the only ones."

"But why?" Clara said, shaking her head. "The demons were looking for us."

"Yeah, maybe," Dean agreed. "But that don't mean it couldn't have happened in other places, too. I mean, we haven't seen a damn person in—what? Eight miles?"

"And there were no cars on the road," John reminded them.

"Right," said Dean. "People could be looking for somewhere safer to be."

"But _where_?" Clara asked.

"She's got a point," said John. "If this is bigger than us and London, there might not be many places people can go."

"You're tellin' me," Dean said. "Maybe we should go find Sammy. Fingers crossed they found somebody who can give us some answers."

Deciding not to load themselves down with more supplies from the house, they left and headed back to the village center.

* * *

"Alright, all clear," Sam said, rushing down the stairs to rejoin Merlin and Arthur in the kitchen of the house they were currently checking. "Nobody here, either."

"Arthur, there's no one in this town," Merlin said in exasperation, pressing his palms to the island counter and leaning into them. "We should move on."

"Perhaps your brother has found someone?" Arthur reached, looking at Sam.

"Doubt it," Sam said. "If Dean'd found someone, he would have told us already. Merlin's right: we should take what we can and head out."

"Unless this is a good place to relocate?" Merlin implored, wrinkling his nose in thought. "There are enough houses to fit everyone."

"Nah," Sam said, shaking his head. "It's way too close to a main road. We don't wanna be that out in the open."

"That's right," Arthur said. "Besides, this town won't be easy to defend. And there are no nearby sources of running water. We'll be in need of that without electricity."

"Oh," Merlin said thoughtfully. "Right."

"But that doesn't mean this place can't be useful," Sam said quickly. "I saw a grocery story back in the town square. We might be able to get some good stuff from there."

Acting on that thought, they left the house and headed back towards the center of town, where they caught up with the others before going into the small grocery store, whose door was unlocked despite the dilapidated _closed_ sign hanging from a suction cup on it.

The inside was a mess of shattered jars, overturned carts, and other bits of debris that littered the floor and stuck to the tiles. The shelves were almost picked clean and, from what Sam could see, the only things that were left behind were rotting meat, broken cans, or ripped snack bags. He imagined the chaos that might have ensued that resulted in this, and it reminded him of the beginning of one of those zombie apocalypse movies. He supposed that fantasy wouldn't be too different from what actually happened.

He didn't know how much they'd be able to find there. Wherever the people of this town went, it looked like they took everything they could with them. But apparently Dean was more hopeful.

"Alright, take what you can find," he said, zipping open his backpack and starting for one of the aisles. The others did the same, so Sam figured it was worth a shot to look around for camaraderie's sake.

He passed John collecting bottles of water in one aisle, and he eyed Clara picking out fruits and vegetables in another; Dean was shoving damaged cans of beans and jars of pickled vegetables into his bag, and Arthur and Merlin were looking for bread that hadn't molded.

Sam thought there might be an aisle for personal care, where he could pack away a few bars of soap and find some over-the-counter medication in case anyone ever needed it; but, as soon as he turned the corner into it, he was unexpectedly shoved up against the steel shelves. He grunted as they rattled and came unhinged upon impact and, before he saw his assailant, he was doused in something cool and wet. It seeped in between his lips, and he realized at once it was just water.

Blinking the droplets away rapidly, a young woman of Middle Eastern descent came into focus. She had shoulder-length dark hair that fell in loose tangles about her, and she wore an army green jacket over a black t-shirt, jeans, and simple boots. But what stuck out most to Sam was definitely the rifle pointed at his nose. He stared down it into her set expression and put his hands up in surrender.

"Whoa—hey," he stammered, nothing else coming to mind.

Someone must have heard the commotion, because he heard footsteps running down the aisles.

"Sammy?" he heard seconds before Dean cleared the corner, his Colt gripped in his hands. The woman's rifle swung towards him.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her eyes flashing between the two of them.

"Not demons," Sam reminded her, and he risked wiping away the holy water dripping from his chin to prove it. She relaxed infinitesimally; however, the rest of the group appeared behind Dean, and her guard was up again. John didn't help when he lifted his gun from the back of his trousers, and neither did Arthur when he raised his sword.

"How many of you are there?" she asked in the same tone as before.

"Everyone you see here," Dean answered in a rough tone, clearly trying to establish dominance. She didn't back down. "Little out numbered, huh, sweetheart?"

She looked at the weapons trained on her, and then eyed her own rifle. Obviously thinking better of it, she lowered it and backed away a few steps. Dean and Arthur lowered theirs, too, and John's grip slackened.

"It's only salt rounds," she admitted.

Lowering his palms back to his sides, Sam asked in surprise, "You're a hunter?"

She eyed him skeptically with pursed lips before nodding in the affirmative. "And you?"

"Yeah," said Dean. He tilted his head towards Sam. "Me and him."

"And them?" she inquired, pointing her chin behind Dean.

"They're with us," he answered shortly.

"We're looking for supplies—food, medicine—and some shelter," Sam told her.

"You and me both," she said shortly. "We won't find it here. This shop's been picked clean."

"Where did everyone go?" John asked her.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Most towns are like this. Since London, everyone's trying to get to higher ground."

"But London's miles away," Clara said. "Why would that effect anyone here?"

The woman crinkled her nose, her eyes scanning all their inquiring faces in a way that made Sam's stomach turn.

"You really don't know?" she asked, surprised. "Haven't you been watching the emergency broadcasts?"

"Haven't really had the time to catch up on TV," Dean answered sarcastically.

"There have been more attacks," Merlin guessed, sounding way too ominous for Sam's liking. The woman's averted eyes didn't help the twisting in his gut.

"Yes," she said, and let out a deep breath. "There was London, but then later that night a few other places got hit. Then yesterday . . . It's been Manchester, York, Cardiff, Edinburgh, Aberdeen—I can go on, if you like. None of them have been as bad as London . . . Well, maybe for one. And maybe they got it worse." She shook her head like she was remembering a bad dream. "Winchester."

Sam's eyes shot to Merlin, who took in a steadying breath through his teeth and closed his eyes. Then he turned to Arthur and whispered something to him. At first, Arthur looked stunned, and then he looked angry.

"That's where I came from," the woman was saying in the meantime. "I barely got out with my life."

"They're going after the cities," Clara guessed.

"Not just the cities. Towns and villages, too," the woman told her. "This isn't the only place that's evacuated. People are scared and, as far as I can tell, those who can get out are headed for Kent."

"What's so great about Kent?" Dean wondered.

"It's where the ferry across the Channel is," John supplied. "They're trying to get to France." He shook his head. "They won't take everyone. It's only a matter of time until they close their borders."

"What about Ireland?" Merlin asked. "Is anyone going there?"

She shrugged again. "I don't see why they would. Ireland's the same as us."

"What?" said Sam. "But they're not even a part of the UK."

"That wouldn't matter to Morgana," Arthur said the name like it was poisonous as he sheathed his sword at his side with more force than Sam thought necessary.

"I'm sorry, to _who_? Did you just say . . .?" The woman rattled her head in confusion and pulled at the wrist of her jacket. "Who are you lot?"

"I'm Dean. This is my brother, Sam. That's John, Clara, Merlin and Arthur."

The woman blinked at them, appearing deep in thought. When she didn't answer, Arthur implored, "What is _your_ name?"

"No, I'm—," she stuttered, and then answered, "My name is Yasmin."

"Yasmin, alright," said Sam. "Listen, we're not looking for shelter just for us. We've got like—at least two-hundred people back where we started."

Clara obviously followed his train of thought, because she went on for him, "You can come with us, if you like? Safety in numbers and all that."

Yasmin's eyes scanned all of their faces in turn but, when they flashed to Arthur, Sam thought she watched him for just a millisecond longer.

"Yes," she agreed, nodding her head. "I think that's for the best."

* * *

The doors of the Tardis creaked open to reveal the mill's loft and the Doctor stepped out, Cas in tow. However, as he took his first step, he heard the wooden boards whine beneath his soles, and he bared his teeth in anticipation as he looked behind him at the base of the Tardis. He hoped the weight of the ship wasn't too much for the old loft, but the wood seemed to settle so he let it be.

Scanning the small area, he spotted Sherlock a few feet from them. He was rocking back and forth in a wooden chair with his legs kicked up on the rickety table and crossed at the ankles. The tails of his coat pooled over either side of the chair and swept at the dust, and Sherlock's head was bent back as he blew air up at the ceiling. Below the loft, the crowd still milled about, and the smell of cooking fish wafted in from the fire outside, reminding the Doctor that it was almost dinnertime.

"_Alright_! Ingredients for the mysterious demon-killing potion? Consider it done!" he said exuberantly as he and Cas made their way towards Sherlock, who continued to rock back and forth on the legs of his chair as though he didn't notice them.

"How have things been here?"

"Dreadful," Sherlock said impassively, and the Doctor's face fell in worry.

"What's happened?" Cas asked anxiously.

"Nothing!" Sherlock complained. He stopped rocking and looked up at them. "It's all been so _dull_. I should have gone with John."

The Doctor rolled his eyes and, next to him, Cas relaxed.

"Oi! Don't be such a baby," the Doctor said, leaning over and pushing at the bottom of Sherlock's shoe with his index finger to make the chair tip backwards. Sherlock caught his balance coolly and planted his feet on the floor.

"Now, a little bit of hush. I have to make a phone call," he said, turning back around to the Tardis.

"To who?" Sherlock called.

"To someone who hopefully won't pick up," the Doctor shouted from over his shoulder.

"The phones are still down," Castiel reminded him.

"They won't be where I'm calling!"

When he reached the Tardis doors, he opened the compartment in the front and picked up the receiver of the phone.

"What do we do?" Cas asked as the Doctor dialed.

"Oh, I don't know! Am I your mum?" the Doctor said, preoccupied by the ringing. "Go set the table or something."

This time, Sherlock rolled his eyes. Cas narrowed his.

"_Go_!" the Doctor said again, pointing towards the ladder. "And save me some fish!"

"We'll ensure to leave you the eyes," Sherlock told him blandly, standing up and straightening out the lapels of his coat before he and Cas walked off.

The Doctor brought his attention back to the ringing of the phone, and he was just about to give up when he heard someone pick up the other end and say hurriedly, "Yes, hello?"

"Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, have you no instinct of self-preservation?" he chided. Honestly, he wished she hadn't picked up. That would mean she wasn't in her office at UNIT headquarters inside the Tower of London. It would mean she escaped the city and gotten herself to safety.

Kate sighed, and it sounded tinny over the line. "Not when I have an entire country on red alert, Doctor."

"Funny you should mention that. It's why I've phoned."

"I assumed you'd be involved somehow," Kate told him, sounding as though she were settling in. "What's your location?"

"Can't tell you that."

"Why?" she scoffed sarcastically. "Is your line not secure?"

"Mine is," he assured her. "Not so sure about yours. Can't be too careful with the government these days."

"Absolutely not," she agreed, suddenly sounding stressed. The Doctor didn't blame her, either. He and Cas had patched into world news sources via the Tardis, which told them London was only the first city that had been attacked.

"We can't get a reading on these creatures, Doctor," she told him. "They seem to possess a host and become nearly indestructible. The only thing that seems to eject the creature is severe dismemberment, but we _are_ trying to save people. We can't just keep chopping up civilians."

"Or civil servants," the Doctor agreed. "Or the military."

"Some of ours have been compromised, too," Kate sighed. "Have you ever encountered such things? What's the planet of origin?"

"Earth," the Doctor told her, and there was silence for a long time.

"That's not possible," she denied at last.

"Would I lie to you?" he answered, mocking offense. Kate didn't seem to notice.

"But what _are_ they?"

"Demons. From Hell."

"Doctor—"

"There's no time to make you believe me. Just trust me!" the Doctor said decisively, beginning to pace as far as the cord would reach. "Listen—use salt. Load it into your guns, pile it in front of your doors, sprinkle it on your steaks—"

"_Doctor_."

"It works," he said pointedly, getting back on track. "It will protect you from them at the very least. There are other methods of protection, too. Have a team research it."

Kate sighed, but evidentially she decided to trust him because she asked, "No advice on how to get rid of them?"

He sighed heavily and stopped pacing. "We're working on it."

"_We_?" Kate emphasized. "Who?"

"Not _you_!" the Doctor pleaded, but it sounded like a demand. "Get out of there. Take your girls and get them somewhere safe."

"As if I'd put my daughters in danger," Kate snipped. "They're in a safe location, and I have ways of getting out of the city if I need to."

The Doctor leaned against the Tardis, twirling the cord of the phone around his finger absentmindedly. "But you won't go," he said, beginning to accept it. "That wouldn't be very much like a Lethbridge-Stewart."

"No, it would not," she said, sounding impatient and rushed again. "Now, unless you have more information for me, Doctor, I have a city to reclaim."

The Doctor hummed into a grin, and he couldn't help but to feel proud. "I'll keep you posted," he told her.

"You better had," she demanded determinedly.

"And don't forget the salt!"

"Noted," she told him sternly. He heard the phone click as she hung up.

* * *

Once they were sure Yasmin wasn't a demon, they left the town behind and headed back towards the forest. However, this time they stuck to the outskirts of the tree line and eventually came upon a back road about a mile from the town. Referring to the map, they discovered there were patches of farmland close by, and they decided to head in that direction.

Dean brought up the group's rear, keeping his gun at the ready in case he needed it. He looked in front of him at Sam and Clara, who were walking on either side of Yasmin and asking her more about her journey from Winchester or any other bits of information they could get out of her. She answered in short sentences, sounding preoccupied and much more interested in keeping her eyes front.

Walking in front of them was John, who would look over his shoulder and add to the conversation every now and again, telling Dean that he was paying close attention to everything Yasmin was saying. Arthur and Merlin led the group, and Dean couldn't help but notice the rigid line of Arthur's shoulders every time Merlin said something to him in a tense, hissing whisper so the others wouldn't hear. From what Dean could see, Merlin was only making Arthur angrier with every word, and eventually he gave up and fell back to Sam's side.

It wasn't long after that John pointed out a dirt road a little way up the path, and they turned down it until the trees gave way to open land. A sizable farm stretched out before them, the main house nestled close to the forest, and an old barn and silo on the other side of the property. The forest surrounded the land in a horseshoe shape on three sides, and Dean could make out a small wooden fence on the opposite end from where they were standing. Beyond it was nothing: only rolling green.

"You think anyone still lives here?" Sam thought aloud.

"One way to find out," Dean said, starting towards the front of the farmhouse. The others followed in his wake.

The steps creaked as Dean ascended them onto the graying porch, furnished with wicker chairs on one side and a plain wooden bench on the other. He reached the door and gave it a quick knock with two of his knuckles and then listened out for any response within.

"Hello?" he called when he received none. Again, there was nothing, so he looked over his shoulder to locate Sam, who was scanning the land from the last step. Like he could feel his brother's eyes, Sam looked back around and gave Dean a nod that they should go inside.

When Dean turned the knob the front door opened seamlessly.

"Anybody home?" he shouted as he paced slowly inside, gun held up, aware of the others following close behind him.

"It doesn't look like anyone's here," Arthur said, commenting on the state of the house. It didn't quite look ransacked. In fact, it looked as though whoever caused the mess knew exactly where everything was; they were just in a hurry to get to it.

"They must have tried to evacuate, too," Clara agreed as she and the rest filed in.

Dean relaxed his weapon, as did Sam and Yasmin.

"We'll have to be sure," said Arthur. "If this is where we wish to relocate, we'll have to scout it out. Dean, Yasmin, and I will keep looking through the house to make sure it's empty. Sam, take Merlin and search the barn. John and Clara, go along the perimeter of the farmland. Ensure the forest is safe."

"Got it," Sam said, following Merlin out of the house.

"Take this," Dean told Clara, spinning his Colt around and offering the handle to her.

She eyed it warily. "I wouldn't know how to use it," she decided on.

He let out a breath and released the safety, reoffering it to her with more care. "You pull the trigger," he said insistently. He wouldn't take no for an answer. He promised the Doctor he'd make sure nothing happened to her, and Dean wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything touched a hair on her perfect head.

"Can't have you runnin' into trouble," he said simply.

Her large eyes gave away her nervousness, but she smirked slightly at Dean's concern and took the gun from him carefully.

"Oh, my stars," she breathed down at it.

"Keep her in your sights," he warned John, who scoffed.

"Only if she keeps me in hers," he said, and the two filed out of the front door.

In the meantime, Yasmin and Arthur had disappeared into the other rooms, so Dean started down the corridor to give them a hand. He didn't find anything of merit in the small house. It was old, making the kitchen appliances seem out of place; even the electric sockets seemed as though they were added years after the house was built. But it was large enough, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms on the upper level and spacious rooms on the lower. On the walls, he saw family pictures and photos that documented the life of the two daughters: from birth to university graduation and beyond.

It would serve as a good base for the time being.

It was better than a drafty watermill, anyway.

Dean met Arthur and Yasmin in the living room closest to the front door, where the cushions on the old couch had been torn off, the arm chair had been on its side, and the down draft kicked up ashes in the fireplace. The electricity wasn't on here, either, but Yasmin told them it was like that all over the country, and that it was only switched back on for the emergency broadcasts.

Soon enough, Sam, Merlin, Clara, and John rejoined them to report their findings.

"The fence goes around the entire property," John said. "It's broken in some places, but I doubt it'd stop anyone from getting in, anyway. And there's good visibility through the trees. We'd be able to see if anyone was coming."

"There's a fresh water stream a few feet into the forest," Clara went on. "It probably feeds into the lake. It'll be good to have, I think. We'll need lots of water, won't we?"

"Yes, of course," Arthur agreed before turning his eyes on Merlin and Sam. "Have you found anything in the barn?"

"There was nothing inside," Sam said with a shrug. "Just some old hay and a dead tractor."

"The land hasn't been farmed for quite some time," Merlin said. "No crops, no livestock. This farm's out of commission, but there's enough property for a lot of people."

Arthur nodded to signify he was listening, but he mostly looked like he was thinking.

"Don't think it's gonna get better than this, man," Dean reasoned.

Arthur looked back to Merlin and sounded civil and patient as he asked, "Do you agree?"

Merlin nodded almost instantly. "It's good," he said, "especially for the amount of people we have. We don't have cars or any means of transport. We'd be seen for sure if we risked moving a group of that size more than ten miles by foot."

"Then this is where we lead them," Arthur said, taking a quick, scanning the room. His eyes eventually landed on the window that overlooked the land, which was now fading in visibility under the setting sun.

"We stay here for the night. It's much too late to go back now," he then decided, and everyone stepped to either side as he moved to the double doors on the other end of the room. "I'll take the first watch."

"Do you need company?" Merlin called after him just as Arthur reached the door.

His shoulders tensed as he paused, staring down as his grip on the knob. "No, Merlin," he said, sounding curt again. "I do not."

Merlin tried not to sigh as Arthur ripped the door open and left. Momentarily, they heard the front door open, too, and Dean assumed Arthur was making himself comfortable on the porch.

"Kinda moody, huh?" Dean leaned down and said to Clara out of the side of his mouth as the others went in search of fresh linens and pillows.

"Dean, you heard what Yasmin said: It was brutal in Winchester," she answered sympathetically. "It might be different now, but it was still his home."

"You think Morgana's tryin' to kick him where it hurts? Make it personal?"

She looked to the door as though she could see Arthur beyond it.

"I think she already has."

* * *

By the time it was Sam's turn to be on guard, the sun was already casting a pink line on the horizon, and light was washing out the twinkling stars. He rubbed the tired from his eyes as he opened the door to the front porch, where Yasmin was sitting on the first step and staring out at the farmland. When Sam lowered his fists from his eyes, he saw scattered bits of golden light dancing above her head, but he quickly blinked them away; and she jumped and turned around rapidly when she heard the door open.

"Oh," she said, settling down. "It's you. I, um—"

"Thought it was a demon?" Sam asked, flapping his hands at his sides and moving towards her. He leaned over the railing of the porch next to the stairs and folded his hands together.

"It's been quiet," Yasmin said, looking back out at the property. Then she yawned. "I'm knackered."

"Go catch a few more hours," Sam told her with a nod. "I got it from here."

She stood up and brushed herself off before walking back up the steps and towards the door. However, as her hand gripped the knob, she looked back to him in curiosity.

"Sam and Dean," she said, catching his attention. "I've heard those names. You're not . . .?"

Sam snorted out a laugh, and then he nodded. Her brows arched in skepticism.

"You're joking?" When he did not respond, she went on, "You know, a lot of hunters were angry with you two a few years back."

Sam felt his heart stop for only a moment but, when it started up again, he swallowed hard and squared his jaw in preparation. "Yeah."

"I was never one for the gossip," she assured him with a brisk nod, and he felt the knot in his stomach untwine. Without another word, she opened the door and left him to his own devices.

He kept his eyes on where she stood for some time, half-expecting her to come back out and tell him off, to say she didn't trust him. And he wouldn't blame her. He had never really considered news of his starting the Apocalypse to spread abroad but, then again, it was so hard to think like that when his entire life was bound between two coasts.

Sometimes it was easier to think in smaller terms, anyway.

When Yasmin did not return, Sam willed his thoughts away with a sigh and stood up from his lean over the railing. He walked towards where she had sat before and plopped down there, too, with his arms resting loosely on his knees. A few minutes passed before he heard the front door creak open again, and he looked over his shoulder to find Merlin shuffling towards him.

"Hey," Sam said, a little surprised by the company. "Thought you had your turn already."

"I did," Merlin told him. "But I couldn't sleep. Mind if I join?"

Sam pulled an indifferent frown and gestured towards the space next to him on the step in offering, and Merlin took it. Merlin leaned back and rested his elbows on the step above them.

"Why the insomnia?" Sam wondered. "Is it 'cause Arthur's pissed at you?"

Merlin pulled a nonchalant face and shook his head. "He isn't angry with me. He's just being an ass."

Sam saw straight passed that and, trying not to pry too much, he asked, "You sure?"

"No," Merlin admitted. "It's because I never told him about Winchester."

"Yeah, I could see that," Sam said, remember Arthur's look of shock after Merlin had whispered in his ear back at the shop. "Why not?"

Merlin sighed, staring off. "Because it's not Camelot anymore," he explained. "I've been there many times over the years, looking for something familiar, but there _is_ nothing. Even the air seems different. The only memory left is a mural that I put there—that's been painted over, mind you. It would break his heart."

"I get it," Sam said. "You're just lookin' out for him."

"Which is why he's angry, of course," Merlin said. "He thinks I'm underestimating him and—I don't know. Maybe I am." He bit at his bottom lip and shook his head in consideration.

"Well, maybe you should give him some more credit?" Sam advised. "He's been doin' a pretty good job so far though all this, and it's not like he doesn't realize things are different from way back when. I know you mean well, but you're not doing him any favors by coddling him."

Merlin looked as though he was turning this over in his mind, and then he groaned. "Oh, I'm an old man! Leave me alone!"

Sam couldn't help but laugh at this.

"Oh, right, go on and laugh," Merlin said sarcastically, throwing up his palms exasperatedly. "Cheers."

"I'm not!" Sam defended poorly. "You just look pretty damn good for being . . . How old?"

Merlin puffed out his cheeks. "I've lost count," he said. "And your brother _still_ calls me _kid_!"

"I know, man."

"I'm sorry, but that's infantilizing!"

"No, hey, let it out."

But something in his tone told Sam that Merlin wasn't really angered by it.

"But you were the kid when we first met, remember?" Sam asked. "That's endearing for Dean, trust me."

"Like Sammy?"

He nodded. "Like Sammy. Look at it this way, he could call you douchebag."

"And who's that?"

"Who do you think?"

Merlin chortled in realization, but it soon died into a hum and then into nothing. They sat in contented silence for a long time until Sam broke it by saying, "So, uh, with everything that's been going on, I feel like I barely got to say hi to you."

Merlin nodded and pursed his lips. "Hello."

Sam smirked. "What've you been up to since the last time I saw you?" he asked, momentarily forgetting himself. It wasn't until the words were out of his mouth, and Merlin scoffed in humor, did Sam realize how silly that must have sounded. "Yeah, kinda a dumb question," he admitted, trying to save face. "Guess it would be easier for me to answer that."

"I don't know about that," Merlin answered seriously, perplexing Sam.

"What d'you mean?"

Merlin narrowed his eyes at Sam, as though trying to get a better look at him from a distance. It unnerved Sam only slightly, and he shuffled under the gaze. However, Merlin didn't relent.

"You survived your trials," he said after a moment.

"Yeah," Sam said through his teeth, "'cause I didn't finish them."

Merlin furrowed his brow. "Why not?"

Sam looked down at his hands, clapping them together once idly. "Yeah, I've been asking myself that, too."

"But you're fine?" Merlin asked, his voice suddenly concerned. When Sam looked up again, Merlin was still searching him, but his eyes were more caring than intense now.

"Yeah," Sam assured him, but he sounded less than convinced. He ran his fingers through his hair. "I mean, I _feel_ fine. I _am_—I'm good. But sometimes—the things me and Dean hunt . . . I dunno, it's like, they can see inside me. And it's like they don't know how I'm still standing, ya know?"

Merlin didn't respond. He just continued to stare and blink. Sam felt compelled to go on.

"I mean, maybe it's just me."

"Why would you think that?" Merlin asked with empathy.

Sam shrugged out his hands. "Because sometimes _I _wonder how I'm still standing," he said honestly. "Or why. If I'd closed the Gates, all this wouldn't have happened. It would have been better if . . ."

He let himself trail off, and before Merlin could answer, if he was even going to, Sam groaned tiredly and scrubbed at his face with his palms.

"I dunno, man, just—," he started, lowering his hands and looking back at the horizon. The sun was over it now, and a cool blue had replaced the indigo sky. "Forget it. I mean, could things be better? Yeah." Sam shrugged. "But they've been a lot worse."

Merlin smiled bitterly at the barn in the distance. "Have they been?" he mused.

Sam searched the frown lines on his face. "You're worried about Morgana, huh?"

Merlin sat forward to mimic Sam's position. "I'm always worried about Morgana. That's not it."

"Then what is?" Sam asked, trying to understand.

Merlin paused to collect his thoughts, trying to find the best way to put them into words. After a moment, he dropped his tense shoulders and said, "I've been waiting for this all my life. All those years, trying to be ready for anything. But, now that it's here . . ." He shook his head and looked back and Sam. "I don't feel prepared . . . This isn't your fault for not going through with the trials. It's destiny, and that worries me. Because what if it will be like the last time? And what if I can't stop it?"

Sam nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, well, it's not gonna be like the last time, okay? Because now you've got all of us. And Arthur knows about everything now, so, I mean—it's different. So what, we didn't see this coming?" He let out a laugh. "Me and Dean _never_ know what's coming next. We just make it up as we go along. And you think the Doc ever has a plan? We just all gotta roll with the punches—like we always do."

Merlin pursed his lips to the side in thought and nodded noncommittally. Sam saw his words weren't exactly providing any comfort, so he dropped the humor in his tone and tried again.

"Look, wanna take it from someone who knows? The only time you _really_ mess things up is when you think it's all down to you."

This caught Merlin's attention. He looked at Sam out of the corners of his eyes.

"You're not in this alone."

As Merlin considered this, he continued to scan Sam's face, so Sam gave him a small, supportive smile.

"You would think with how long I've lived, I would be the one giving you wisdom," Merlin told him.

"Guess I'm pretty mature for my age," Sam joked, causing Merlin to chuckle slightly.

"Maybe," he agreed. "Or maybe I've learned nothing in my time."

"Hey! I don't buy that. I'm sure you've done a lot of stuff."

Merlin couldn't deny it. "I have."

"And I'm sure it hasn't been all bad."

"No," Merlin said, smirking at some memory. "It hasn't been that. It's been a good life, just a long one."

Sam watched him dig the heels of his palms into his tired eyes and, when he removed them, he looked at Sam pointedly and said, "And Arthur wasn't the only one I hoped to one day see again."

A corner of Sam's lips twitched upwards in appreciation. "Yeah, I missed you, too, man."

To this, Merlin furrowed his brow and wrinkled his nose. "Oh, you thought I meant _you_?" he teased, and his face erupted into a grin.

Sam chortled along with him and playfully pushed him away by the shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven.**

About an hour after sunrise, the entire house was awake again, preparing to head back to the mill to bring the others.

"I'll need someone to stay behind to stock the supplies in the pantry," Arthur said without looking up as he packed his backpack. "Merlin, why don't you do that?"

"Arthur—"

"You can place protection on the farm while you're at it."

Merlin swallowed whatever he was about to say and nodded in acceptance. Dean eyed his own backpack, and suddenly got an idea. He placed it next to the couch on the floor and said, "Hey, I'll stay with him."

Sam knitted his brows together. "Really? _You_ wanna just hang out all day?"

Dean shrugged innocently. "Yeah, why not? Think I got a pretty nasty callous on my big toe from yesterday. Probably should soak it."

"Charming," Clara said with her nose wrinkled.

"Plus, this place is pretty big, right?" Dean went on. "Kid needs some help warding it."

"Stay if you wish," Arthur said, tossing his pack over his shoulders. The others followed his lead. "We'll be back by day's end."

"Got it," Dean said brightly, following them into the hallway and towards the front door to see them off. "Happy trails. Safe travels. Bon voyage. Yadda yadda." He closed the door behind them once they'd all filed out, and then he went back into the living room.

Merlin regarded him skeptically for a second before blinking his thoughts away and saying, "Right, why don't you start warding the house? I'll go along the perimeter of the land."

He began to walk out of the room and Dean turned around to follow him, dragging a palm down his lips and collecting his thoughts. "Yeah, uh, sure thing. But, hey—can I talk to you for a sec?"

Merlin stopped walking, his back still to Dean for several seconds until he turned around with a curious and expectant look on his face.

"It's about Sam."

A look of realization softened Merlin's features. "I knew it," he breathed. "There _is_ something wrong. I sensed it the moment I saw him."

"Yeah, no need to be cocky, Gandalf," Dean muttered. He let out a breath, his mind suddenly fumbling on how to phrase this. "He's possessed," he decided on.

"_What_?" Merlin shouted immediately, and Dean wasn't sure if he looked more angry or panicked. "By what? A demon?"

"What? No! Slow down—"

"And he has _no_ idea?"

Yeah, he was definitely angry.

"None? Whatsoever? I spoke with him last night. You think he would have mentioned—But _you_ know."

Dean nodded guiltily.

"Yeah, uh. It was kinda my idea."

Merlin searched him for a beat. "Have you told anyone else?"

Dean shook his head, not trying to hide anything, but still not giving up any real information.

"No."

Merlin locked eyes with him and took a step closer.

"Tell _me_."

Dean held his gaze for a long pause before breaking it to look at the floor instead. Finally, his whole body slackened in something close to relief as he said, "It's an angel."

For a moment, Merlin could only blink at him, wondering if he had heard correctly. "An _angel_?" he asked slowly. "Sam is possessed by an angel?"

"Well, it's a dormant possession but . . ."

"No, no, that doesn't make any sense," Merlin said, rattling his head in attempt to make the puzzle pieces fit together. "Sam would never allow that. Don't angels need permission?"

"Yeah, and he got it," Dean said, but then he shrugged and murmured, "Kinda."

"_Kinda_?" Merlin repeated, his perplexity transforming back into anger. "What does that _mean_—kinda?"

"It means it's under control," Dean answered, matching Merlin's tone. "You can't tell 'im."

Merlin stepped back again and looked off with a humorless laugh. "Why _not_?"

"Because it's not your place," Dean told him clearly, and Merlin's expression grew dark as his eyes snapped back to look at him.

"Your brother is _possessed_ and he has no idea!" he said in a near-yell, pointing a finger to the door and, by extension beyond it, Sam. "You don't think he has the right to know?"

"Of course, he does," Dean admitted, "but he can't."

Merlin tilted his head, looking thoroughly annoyed by Dean's vague excuses. "_Why_?"

"Because he's dying!" Dean barked with bared teeth, and Merlin's expression suddenly went blank. He stood completely still, his mouth slightly ajar as he watched Dean's rigid jaw line and soft, helpless eyes.

"He still is," Dean went on, his tone weaker now. "I don't know how much he told you about those trials . . .?"

"A little."

"Well, they almost killed him," Dean explained. "They still could. That's why he's possessed, alright? That angel inside of him—_that's_ why he's there: To _save_ Sam. To fix him, because you can't. We asked you to heal him last time, remember? And you couldn't. And you're damn right—if Sam found out, he'd be pissed, and he'd kick Zeke to the curb. So he _can't_ find out, you understand?"

Merlin was visibly uncomfortable, but he couldn't meet Dean's eyes to argue.

"Zeke?" he asked after a pause.

"That's his name."

"And you trust him?" Merlin wondered, surveying Dean again.

"Absolutely," Dean answered like he wanted so badly to believe it. "It's still Sam, okay? He's completely in control. Except . . .Well, when he isn't."

Merlin's eyes widened, his discomfort bubbling hot to surface again. He let out a frustrated noise and moved his lips to argue but, before he got out his first word, Dean cut him off again.

"It's rare!" he swore. "It's just, _sometimes_ Zeke might take over—just to say hi."

He gave an overwrought grin, and Merlin looked at him incredulously, apparently at a loss for words.

"Look, bottom line?" Dean said, leveling with him and holding out his palm. "Zeke's afraid that Cas is gonna draw more angels here. You know he doesn't exactly have a fan club right now."

"I can't imagine he does," Merlin said, "but what has that got to do with Zeke? Is he on the run, too?"

"No," Dean told him quickly, trying to be reassuring. "He just doesn't want a fight. He's not at full power, and he's gotta use it all to heal Sam."

Merlin arched a brow, looking unconvinced.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because we need a way to hide Zeke, make sure nothing can sense him inside Sam," Dean answered. "Know anything that can do that?"

Merlin cast his eyes down at the floor. "Maybe," he said. "There could be something, but I'll have to find it. It's powerful magic; it will take time."

"But you'll do it?" Dean made sure, looking hopeful.

Merlin let out another breath. "I don't like this, Dean," he said. "It's wrong. Sam should make his own choices."

Of course, Dean knew he was right, but he couldn't just sit back and let Sam die. It wasn't in him. He squared his jaw, looking and Merlin beseechingly.

"I know," he said. "But he's never gonna find out."

"You _do_ know that makes it worse?" Merlin asked bluntly. "It's important to me that you understand that."

"Okay, _fine_," Dean groaned impatiently. "It's wrong, but that's on me. You keep your conscience clean . . . Kid, I'm beggin' you. Don't tell me you never lied to Arthur to save his ass, 'cause I know that ain't true."

Eventually, Merlin nodded in agreement. Dean let out a sigh of relief.

"He lives, Dean," he said, laying out his terms. "By the end of all this, Sam lives. He grows old."

As if Dean needed telling.

"That's my primary objective."

"Start warding the house," Merlin said in finality, and he walked out of the room.

* * *

Merlin and Dean didn't have much to say to one another for the rest of the day. In fact, Merlin was starting to think Dean was avoiding him. After they'd finished warding the property, Merlin began stocking the pantries and Dean ventured back into the nearby village, saying he saw a hardware store that would come in handy. About two hours later, he returned with a hotwired car filled with tarp, canvas sheets, and metal poles. He used them to build tents on the side of the house, knowing not everyone would be able to fit inside its walls.

The sun had gone down by the time the first group arrived, led by Sam and Yasmin. Close behind were those following John, Sherlock, and Castiel. The final crowd arrived close to an hour later, led by Arthur, who had Gwaine running excited circles around his legs as they entered the farmland. The Doctor and Clara came by Tardis, bringing anything that could not be carried by the people.

There wasn't much discussion of sleeping arrangements that night. People merely ate the stew those on cooking duty had prepared, lit fires outside or in the house's hearths for warmth, and slept wherever they could find a place.

The next morning was much more organized. The farm buzzed with energy, and everyone seemed contented to pick out spaces to call their own. Families moved tents to different patches of the farm, attempting to make them comfortable and private. Dean got the tractor running, and a group used it to take the stale hay out of the barn and make it as clean as possible. Stubborn dust and dirt still clung to the wood, but the extra indoor shelter was paramount. The haylofts were used for storage while the lower level was claimed for more sleeping quarters.

It was well after lunchtime, and Merlin sat on the sofa in the living room, which had also been straightened of the mess the owners left behind. Before him, on the coffee table, rested an old, leather bound book that he had in his possession since the early seventeenth century. It was a handwritten copy of the book of magic Gaius had gifted to him so long ago, which had deteriorated beyond repair as time marched on. It took Merlin almost a year to translate and copy down every page before destroying it, and now even the replica was ancient. Its pages were dried and yellowing, some having fallen loose of the spine, and the cover was cracked. He leafed through it with care, looking for something that might fulfill his promise to Dean.

Distantly, he heard the front door of the house open, and then footsteps sounded until the Doctor walked into the room. "There you are," he said. "I've been looking for you."

Merlin looked up from the book, rubbing the soreness out of the back of his neck. "Does something need to be done?"

"No," the Doctor said. "Just wondering where you'd gotten off to." He pointed loftily towards the window. "I wanted to tell you everyone's beat you to a bedroom in the Tardis, but not to worry—I've made you a new one. Made sure it was closest to Arthur's."

Merlin nodded in appreciation. "Thank you, Doctor."

The Doctor strode closer to the couch, looking down nosily at the page Merlin had open. "What are you doing with that old thing?"

"Just looking for something I've missed," he answered vaguely.

"Anything yet?"

He shook his head, and he was doubtful he would find anything. After all, he knew every word in the book by heart.

There was a sudden, faint buzzing from above them, and they both looked up at the ceiling in time to see the light flicker on.

"The electricity's back," the Doctor said warily.

Merlin slammed the book quickly and sprang to his feet. "The emergency broadcast!"

"The _what_?"

There was no time to explain. He was already rushing out of the room as he called from over his shoulder, "Turn on the telly!" He ran through the front door and halted on the porch, quickly scanning the crowd for Arthur. When he found him, he called for him, and Arthur stopped what he was doing to look up. He must have read the urgent expression on Merlin's face, because his features became concerned. He looked around himself until he found Dean and Sam and gestured for them to follow.

However, other people realized that something was happening, and a large group followed Arthur into the house.

"What's happened?" Arthur demanded as Merlin led him into the room, where the Doctor was flipping through static on every channel.

"The power just turned on," Merlin told him. "I think there must be a broadcast coming."

Loud, confused chattered filled the small space as people piled in, and those who could not fit in the room went upstairs to find another television. Soon, Sherlock, John, Castiel, and Clara had pushed their way to the front of the crowd to get a better look at the screen.

"Anything yet?" John asked, wondering if he'd missed something.

"No," said Dean, staring avidly at the screen. So was everyone else.

"Wait, go back!" Arthur said suddenly after the Doctor had skipped a break in the static. He corrected it by flipping back a few channels, and then stepped away from the front of the screen so everyone could get a better look.

A man in a dark suit was sitting upright at a news desk, speaking directly at the camera. A hush fell throughout the room.

"Good afternoon," the man said. "Today, on this special notice, we bring you news of a new development. As previously reported, the acting Prime Minister has stepped down, and the emergency committee has been voting on a new member to fulfill his responsibilities. Earlier this morning, they came to a unanimous decision, whose duties will be taken up immediately—"

There was a hiss of static and the picture scattered, revealing the same creature Merlin had seen outside his window just a few days previous. The memory was no longer foggy, its whole visage now in the forefront of his mind. "You will obey," said the Silence, but Merlin did not see a mouth move. Somehow, the creature was speaking regardless. "You will follow Queen Morgana."

The picture was overcome by static again, and instantly went back to the public address.

Merlin jerked his head to look at the others, to gauge their reactions to the Silence, but they all watched the screen pensively as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. His brows knitted together as he did a double take to the screen to make sure it had not returned. He tried to keep one eye on the broadcast and the other on his friends, watching for any sign that they had, too, seen the Silence.

"We take you live to Buckingham Palace," the man was saying, pulling Merlin out of his thoughts, "to your new leader: Morgana Pendragon."

The image of the newsroom faded and transgressed into an image of the outside of Buckingham, and finally to the throne room, where Morgana was sitting on the throne. Her piercing icy eyes bore into the camera. Merlin gasped slightly: she looked exactly the same as he recalled—a harsh and ferocious beauty.

"I will be brief," she said curtly, her red lips not bothering to curl into a smile. "As your newly appointed leader, I offer you a new start. These tragedies have left our nation crippled, but have also provided an opportunity for rebirth. In order to rebuild our cities and way of life, there must be reform. We _must_ have order.

"Under my leadership, the members of the emergency committee will become your new, permanent system of government. Your laws will come solely from us, as will punishment. Enforcers for these laws will be sent out to each region, and will provide guidance and protection for the towns and villages.

"Secondly, for the safety of the citizens, a blockade has been placed around the perimeter of London. No one will be permitted in or out of the city unless given official access. In the coming days, more laws will follow, and you will be given weekly news reports from this station.

"Lastly," she said, and finally a small smirk tugged at her lips. "If you should see these men—," Merlin's heart stopped for a moment. On the screen appeared three grainy pictures. The first was of the Doctor, and then one of himself and one of Arthur, all obviously taken from CCTV recordings. If he wasn't mistaken, the last two were images from Covent Gardens, taken on the first night of Arthur's resurrection. Had Morgana really been at large that long, right under Merlin's nose? "—report it immediately to your local Enforcers. These men, and those associated with them, are our prime suspects in the recent terror attacks—"

"_What_!" Arthur yelled heatedly at the screen, but it was no more than Merlin expected.

"—and remain a threat until they are brought to justice," she continued. "Anyone found aiding them will be treated as a traitor. We will tolerate no threats as we enter into this new era.

"We must put these lost times behind us and look forwards," she said, sounding as though she was wrapping up the address. She smiled fully now, but something sibilant hid behind it.

"For the love of the United Kingdom," she finished, and Merlin was certain only he and Arthur heard the mocking in her tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at Arthur, who was staring hatefully at the screen as the muscles in his jaw spasmed tensely.

Music began to play and Morgana held her smile as the camera slowly zoomed out to reveal the rest of the throne room. Again, static cracked through the airwaves, and the face of the Silence appeared again, delivering the same message before the screen cut to black.

"Who does she think she's kiddin'," Dean said at once, and Merlin found no signs that anyone had noticed the Silence yet again. "Judge, jury, and executioner? And like she doesn't have that committee wrapped around her finger. She's tryin' to run this place like a dictator. People'll never go for it."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Merlin said softly, and all eyes turned to him, but he did not speak. He glanced warily around the room, aware of the people still huddled around them.

Sam was apparently on the same wavelength as him because he began gesturing the people out. "Alright, guys, show's over," he said. "Time to head out." Slowly but surely, people filed out until their small motley crew was the only thing left, and Sam closed the door behind him.

"What is it?" the Doctor asked Merlin.

"Well, I'm assuming I'm the only one to remember it, but," he said shortly, "the Silence. One kept popping up during the address."

"What did the Silence say?" the Doctor demanded.

Merlin repeated the message.

"_Queen_ Morgana?" John repeated in shock.

"Not exactly subtle," Sherlock said, "but I doubt she's trying to be. If she's made herself known on national television, it means she thinks she's won."

Dean snorted. "Look around, man. She _has_."

"Don't say that, Dean!" Sam snapped immediately.

"Sam's right," Arthur said. "She's only won if we allow it. We can't let any of the townspeople watch the coming addresses. Morgana's bound to put more of these—_Silence_ into her broadcasts. We can't have the people willingly obey her. They must see her tyrannical ways. We must preserve their love of freedom—that way, they'll never stand for Morgana's rule."

"But what can they do?" Clara asked incredulously.

Merlin swallowed hard. He knew what Arthur was going to say.

"They can fight."

There was a long pause into which everyone stared blankly at Arthur.

Dean finally broke it. "Come again."

"It's unlikely any of these people have ever held a weapon and you want them to go to war?" Sherlock asked Arthur, unexpectedly taking Dean's side.

"We can train them," Arthur insisted. "Myself, Dean and Sam, Castiel, and John."

"With what weapons?" Cas pointed out.

"Good point," Dean cut in. "We got, what? A few enchanted blades and some guns that are almost outta bullets?"

"We have your potion," the Doctor reminded them, playing devil's advocate. "Just saying."

"Yeah, but you really think that's enough to take out an entire army?" Dean shot back. "Plus, what's the plan for getting us into London, hotshot? Cram everyone into the Tardis?"

"Even so, we haven't enough people here to take on Morgana's recruits," Sherlock said. "We'd need volunteers in droves, and not everyone will want to fight—if _any_ of them will want to."

"You're saying they won't wish to defend their lives and the those of their families?" Arthur demanded. "They won't want to protect their homes?"

"If they want to live, going into battle is quite counterproductive, wouldn't you say?" Sherlock challenged coolly. "In case you haven't noticed, people don't die for noble causes anymore."

"_And how_!" Dean voiced his solidarity. "Sorry, man, but we got nothin' right now. Maybe we'd have a chance in hell if you had your hundreds'a highly trained knights, but you find me one of them who isn't dead."

"I can name two," Merlin said, unable to keep it in. He looked pointedly at Dean and Sam.

Sam sighed in dejection. "Two's not enough," he said as though he hated to let Merlin down. "They're makin' sense. Look, Merlin, I know you've been waiting for this—"

"It's not a question of waiting," Arthur jumped to defend. "It's a question of fighting or giving up."

"I'm not sayin' we give up," argued Dean. "I'm talkin' about survival—us, and all those people we got outside. You wanna keep people alive? Start with them."

Merlin closed his eyes, trying to think of some way to convince them to help Arthur. But his mind came up blank. They were right. They had no army, no weapons, no plan. They'd be massacred if they even tried. They needed more time.

"Listen to him, Arthur," he said, though he had to force himself to do so.

Arthur turned on him with wide eyes. "_Mer_lin!"

"We need to focus on what's in front of us," Merlin cut him off in a soft voice. "We need to find another way."

"And until then?"

"We let her think she's won," supplied the Doctor.

Arthur didn't say anything. Instead, he paced towards the window and stared out, watching the mass of men, women, and children under his charge. He nodded in acceptance.

"Make use of the electricity while we still have it," he said at last.

No one did anything for a few moments. They shared glances between each other or stared fleetingly at the tense lines of Arthur's back, but eventually they left the room. Merlin stayed behind.

"It's the right call," he said reassuringly.

"For now," Arthur sighed.

Merlin turned to go, but he was halted again when Arthur spoke up.

"I didn't think I'd see her again. There was a time I couldn't bear that thought." He turned away from the window to look at Merlin. "Things could have been different. I should have helped her."

Merlin wanted to say there was nothing Arthur could have done. He wanted to say it wasn't his fault. But he knew Arthur wouldn't listen, so instead he said, "Me, too."

* * *

Hours later, the electricity was still on, and Sam and Clara had found a laptop and were making use of the wifi to search the web for international news reports. They sat on the rug across from the sofa, which Sherlock, Castiel, and John sat upon, and placed the computer on the coffee table.

"Apparently those jets we saw _were_ from the States," Clara reported. "They've sent over aid."

"Is that a surprise?" said Sherlock. "Americans can't keep their noses out of anything."

"God bless the USA," the Doctor said sarcastically with a smirk as he sat down on the arm of the couch.

"What kind of aid?" John managed to finally ask.

"I don't know," Clara said thoughtfully, scanning the article. "They lost contact yesterday."

"Yeah, and get this," Sam said, lifting the laptop and turning it around to show John. "France closed its borders. Looks like you were right."

"Refugees will still find a way in," John said confidently. "They always do. And there's always the rest of Europe."

Merlin sat at the base of the armchair that Arthur was silently occupying, and Gwaine was curled up against his crossed legs. Where Sam had found a laptop, he had found a tablet in one of the bedrooms and was using it to look for more spells. He hadn't found anything to help Sam in his book, but the Old Religion didn't account for angels and demons, not like the Wicca did.

"What _are_ you doing?" Arthur asked him suddenly, looking down at the screen, which had just loaded the image of an angelic sigil.

"It's nothing," Merlin quickly excused. He looked up at Arthur with forced brightness. "Just more protective incantations."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Are you lying to me?"

Merlin tried to laugh. "_No_."

"Well, evidentially I never _can_ tell," he said with practiced airiness, looking away again like he hadn't intended his comment to sting. Merlin knew he was still angry with him for Winchester.

But before he could dwell too much on it, Dean came into the room, a large, animated smirk softening his rough features as he held up an old turntable and a discolored speaker between his hands. There was a dusty record on top of it and, once he set the player down on top of the TV set, he brandished it towards the others.

"Look what I found in the attic," he said happily as he looked for a place to plug the turntable in.

"Why were you in the attic?" Sam asked with a furrowed brow, standing up.

Dean's expression dropped, but only slightly. "Just lookin'."

"Snooping?" said Clara approvingly.

Dean shrugged. "I was bored. Anyway, check this out." He twirled the record between his palms and placed it down, setting the needle on it. It scratched into life, the opening of Aerosmith's _Momma Kin_ filled the room.

"Ah, _nice_!" Dean proclaimed, bopping his head to the music.

Sam and Merlin let out a congruent laugh as Clara and the Doctor's expressions lit up.

"Well, at least we know the previous occupants of this house had good taste," Sherlock said from the armchair, and John nodded his head in agreement. The only ones who didn't seem to know what was going on were Arthur and Castiel.

_It ain't easy, livin' like a gypsy.  
__Tell ya, honey, how I feel.  
__I've been dreaming,  
__Floatin' down stream and  
__Losin' touch with all that is real._

Dean sang along to the music loudly, shaking his hips back and forth and pointing at Clara as he did so. She joined in after the first two lines, jumping up on the cushions of the couch between John and Sherlock and doing the monkey, her hair flipping about her as she bounced. She jumped down into Dean's arms, and he caught her at the waist and spun her around once before placing her on the floor, where they clasped hands and started dancing together at a rapid pace, keeping in tune with the song.

Meanwhile, the Doctor had gotten up from the couch and was swaying around wildly with his arms raised high above his head. Merlin jumped up and made his way to Sam, who was grinning controllably and clapping his hands as he watched on. When he saw Merlin, he did a quick, horrible example of the twist, but Merlin played along, and he was no better. Gwaine stood up on his hind legs and barked enthusiastically.

John was tapping his foot rhythmically, humming and singing along under his breath, and Sherlock was drumming his hands on his knees and bouncing his legs like he was about to jump up and join the dance. Arthur stared at the other in bemused incredulity and Cas seemed downright uncomfortable by the all the proceedings, sinking as far into the couch as possible.

"_Well, you've always got your tail on wag. Shootin' fire from your mouth just like a dragon_—C'mon, Cas!" Dean was saying jubilantly, motioning to Castiel, as he spun Clara, and she twirled into the Doctor's arms to resume dancing.

"No, Dean—I—," Cas tried to protest, but Sam and Dean rushed him and forced him off the sofa.

Clara broke away from the Doctor and grabbed Arthur at the wrist, forcing him up despite his excuses. She led him to the center of the carpet, where he shot her an amused frown before following her cues. He didn't look half as graceful as she did, but he threw his head back in bellowing laughter anyway.

When the time came, Dean lead the air guitar solo, and each of them were out of breath when the song ended, moving on to a largo track.

As they all caught their breath, Clara flipped her tousled hair from her eyes and said, "I've got an idea! Dean, were there more records in the attic?"

"Yeah, loads," was the answer.

"Good," she said brightly. "Well, why don't you get them? We could turn up the music, break into the alcohol cupboard, and remind those people outside they aren't only refugees."

"A party?" Sherlock asked, raising his brow.

"Yeah, good idea," said Sam with a grin. "We could have a cook out or somethin' while there's still power."

"Exactly," said Clara. "We don't know when the electricity will shut off again. We might as well enjoy it while we have it—live like people for a while. Who says we _just_ have to survive?"

"It'd be a good way to cheer everyone up," the Doctor said, agreeing.

"Hell yeah!" cheered Dean. "Let's light this bitch up!"

"Then hot showers for everyone," Merlin laughed.

"Ooh, I'll have mine now," John said dreamily.

Merlin turned to Arthur, his smile fading slightly. "Arthur?"

Arthur looked considerate for a moment, but then said, "A feast could raise spirits. And we can always go on a supply run tomorrow. Let's see what food we have, shall we?"

News of the party spread throughout the farm in no time, and soon enough it seemed as though everyone wanted to pitch in. Some people took it upon themselves to bring out a few tables from the house and set them up on the lawn, while others swarmed the kitchen to cook in the oven or on the stovetop instead of a campfire. A few of the mothers were helping the children make banners and drawings with broken crayons and computer paper. Others still broke out their guitars, the tunes drifting through the grounds and mixing with the music coming from the record player.

By the time the sun went down, a soft glow was still emitting from the windows of the farmhouse, but a few fires had been built on the lawn for warmth and light. Most people hovered around the tables, careful to get their fill of chicken and potatoes while leaving enough for their neighbors, but Merlin thought there would be food to spare by the time the night was over. They really had been tactless in preserving rations, but no one seemed to mind. Clara was right: these people deserved a night without terror.

He found Sam on the porch, leaning over the railing with his eyes scanning the jovial masses. Merlin stood next to him with a cup in each hand and offered him one, which Sam took gratefully.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Not sure," Merlin told him honestly. "Some kind of punch."

Sam took a swig, and gagged in shock before lowering his glass and saying, "Tastes like Dean made it. It's too strong for normal people."

Merlin chuckled. "Castiel seems to like it."

They both looked out and found Castiel in the crowd. Not that Merlin was counting, but he was pretty sure Cas was on his fourth glass, but perhaps that was because he was much more animated than usual. He had apparently stolen Sherlock's coat, and was parading around in it and doing his best stereotypical, daytime TV detective impersonation, much to John and the Doctor's amusement.

"Yeah, guess he doesn't know his limit yet," Sam said.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had been swept onto the makeshift dance floor by one of the women. Close by, Dean and Clara were dancing together, arms around each other, grinning at one another in conversation, and swaying much too slowly for the vivacious music.

Merlin looked around for Arthur, and eventually found him amongst a small group of children. They were using twigs for swords as they chased each other across the grass. As Merlin looked on, the boys and girls soon dropped their sticks and ganged up on Arthur by jumping on him and tackling him to the ground. He had to tickle them to get them off, and all of them erupted into laughter. The parents watching clapped happily, cheering their children on.

However, Merlin caught movement in his peripheral vision. Sitting beside the fire nearest Arthur, Yasmin poked the embers with a stick. She kept her gazed locked on Arthur, never wavering, with a neutral expression.

Merlin stood up a little straighter as he watched her. She did not move. She did not look as though she posed a single threat. But there was something about her that made him curious.

"Mr. Smith, Mr. Smith!" a voice called, and Merlin tore his eyes away from Yasmin to find James running towards him. He came to a halt beneath the porch. Merlin couldn't help but grin.

"Alright, James," he said happily.

"We're making shadow puppets by the fire," James exclaimed. "Come and see!"

James ran off again, motioning for Merlin to follow. Merlin looked at Sam, who shrugged, and they both went after James, trying to keep up with him as he weaved through the crowd. Finally, they caught up with him at the fire closest to the barn. A teenage girl was knelt down beside the flame, folding her hands together so that the shadow on the barn wall looked like a panting dog. The children gathered around the fire squealed with happiness.

James tugged at Merlin's sleeve. "You do one."

Merlin didn't know any shadow puppet tricks, but he arched his brows and shot a sly grin down at James.

"I can do better," he said.

Sam cast him an incredulous look, but Merlin only winked at him and took a few steps closer to the fire. He held out his palm, and his irises shown gold, hidden by the orange light. The fire roared upwards, but instead of chaotic bursts, the flames licked upwards and took the shape of a boy and a girl. The figures twirled around each other in a dance before losing shape and simmering back down.

The children and teenagers around gasped in delight before breaking into laughter and applause. Merlin looked over his shoulder at Sam, who pulled an impressed expression.

"How'd you do that?" James wondered, looking at Merlin in awe.

"Magic," Merlin told him, and James was probably still young enough to believe him.

"Again! Do it again!" he cried, and the other children chimed in.

"Make a dragon," Merlin heard from behind him, but it hadn't been Sam's voice.

He turned around quickly to look at Arthur, who was striding towards the group with half a dozen other children, who had probably been attracted by the show. Merlin's face fell at the request, and Arthur's expression was unreadable. He nodded towards the light, motioning for Merlin to get on with it.

Merlin looked back around, suddenly feeling nervous. Still, he raised his hand towards the heat and the flames sprung into life again. The large creature shot out of the flames like a rocket and, once it was high enough over the children's heads, it unfolded its wings and flapped them a few times. There was more applause and shouts as the dragon burnt out into nothing.

He looked at Arthur again, at the shadows dancing on his face. He was smirking at Merlin in the low light, no longer angry, and Merlin gave him a soft smile in return.

No one noticed when the house's electricity was switched off, and the party went on until the fires became nothing but embers and Dean's punch was down to the dregs. As the crowd thinned, Sherlock played a slow, sleepy tune on the violin to calm the still-excitable children down, and soon after, the farm settled into silence.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve.**

_One month later._

They had to venture further out during the supply runs these days. They had already picked clean the houses of the village nearest to the farm and the quaint neighborhood beyond that. The next logical place to go to was a little less than ten miles north of the farm, and a small group, consisting of Dean, Cas, Yasmin, and one of the men from the watch, went to scout it out.

The town was pretty rundown, looking somewhat like a warzone with its shops with shattered windows and its graffitied buildings and bridges over a polluted canal. It must have been a nice place beforehand. It even had a park, which might have been verdant beneath all the rubble.

However, it didn't look like the town had been invaded or attacked. There were no signs of any fighting or struggles. Apparently, the residences had hung on for a little while after the Silence and Morgana took over. Who knew why they left in the end?

Dean walked up to the glass front of the small grocer and looked down at the heavy metal padlock sealing the door shut. He held it in his palm and gave it a soft tug, hoping it was rusted enough to give way, but it remained strong. Wondering if it was worth it to pick the lock or break the glass, he moved to a window and cupped his hands around his eyes to look inside. It didn't look like very much was left, so he turned away to rejoin Yasmin and Cas a little down the road.

"Anythin'?" he asked once he caught up to them.

"No," Cas said. "This place is in ruins."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean agreed, taking another sweeping look around the area. "Wasted outing."

"It makes you wonder what happened here," Yasmin mused. "It looks like everything just died, but there aren't any bodies."

"There's certainly a smell," said Cas, probably expecting Yasmin to laugh. She didn't. She did wince, though.

In the interim, Dean realized they were one short, and he looked around for the fourth member of the group. He wasn't anywhere on the block, and Dean hoped the man knew better than to wander off alone in uncharted territory.

"Hey, where's Carpenter?"

"He went into the liquor store," Yasmin said, pointing her chin in that direction. "I told him to. If we can't find food, we might as well bring back some booze."

"Ah, good girl!" Dean laughed happily, but perhaps he'd spoken too soon.

They heard a gunshot go off from the direction Yasmin had pointed, followed by a loud shout of agony.

The three of them ran towards the shout, pulling out their weapons as they did, and burst through the door of the liquor store. Dean slid to a halt, and Cas and Yasmin did the same close behind him, when he saw what had happened. On the grimy tile floor in front of the aisles was Carpenter, his eyes wide and unseeing and wet, sticky red staining his front and pooling around him. His shirt was torn and ripped where he'd been stabbed and slashed repeatedly on the torso and his gun was still gripped in his hand.

Standing over the body was a middle-aged woman with his blood soaking her clothes. She held a dripping kitchen knife tightly in her fist by the blade, like her hand had slipped on the crimson but she didn't even feel the pain.

Breathing heavily, she looked up towards them, and there was something savage about her. Her nose was in a snarl, her hair was in knots, her face caked in dirt, and her pupils were pinpricks of black. Dean had seen that look before.

The woman let out something close to a battle cry and jumped over the corpse. She raised her knife and rampaged forwards. Before Dean could react, Yasmin raised her rifle and unloaded a shot unto the woman's chest, making her get blown backwards and land lifelessly over Carpenter.

"No!" Dean shouted. He should have thanked Yasmin, but instead he forced the barrel of warm rifle down. "The noise'll only attract 'em."

"Who?" she demanded, fear flashing in her eyes for only a moment before she steeled herself.

As though to answer the question, they heard some grunting and groaning from the other side of the room. Dean looked over his shoulder just in time to see two croats stumble out of an aisle. They spotted the small group immediately and started quickly towards them.

"Run!" Dean shouted, and he, Cas, and Yasmin tore out the door.

They made it to the middle of the street before realizing the outside was worse, however. It was like they'd come out of nowhere, but they were all headed in the direction of the liquor store. If Dean had to guess, he'd say it was at least forty croats surrounding them. Knowing it was no use trying to hide his presence anymore, he held up his Colt and pointed it warningly from head to head. Next to him, Yasmin brought up her rifle and Cas gripped his angel blade.

"Dean, there are too many of them," Cas shouted.

"Back in the liquor store," he ordered. After all, they could handle two over what looked like a whole town.

But when he turned back around, he realized the way was blocked. Thinking fast, he spun around in the direction with the least amount of croats and fired a few shots squarely into their foreheads. When they fell, the others only trampled over them until they, too, were put down.

"This way!"

They ran through the clearing as fast as they could, back in the direction they'd come from. Dean fired his gun whenever he had to, and he heard Yasmin's rifle go off a few times, too. But he tried not to look back. That would only slow him down. And he didn't have to look to know how quickly they were being pursued.

Before they got to the end of the block, another group of about a dozen rounded the corner, leaving Dean no choice but to stop in his tracks right outside the grocer shop. They were cornered. No way out.

Cas stood bravely in front of Dean, holding out his blade at arms length.

"Dean!"

"I'm thinking!"

"In here!"

Dean spun around to look at Yasmin. She was holding the door to the grocer open, rapidly gesturing them inside.

"Come on!"

Cas rushed passed Dean to follow her, but Dean stood gaping for a moment. Wasn't there a padlock on that door? How did she pick it so fast?

He heard another savage cry from behind him, knocking him back into the moment. He sped through the open door and Yasmin slammed it behind him and turned the lock.

"That won't hold them," Cas told her.

Someone slammed against the door. Dean risked a look out the windows, where a mass of people were scratching and pounding.

"What the hell are those things?" Yasmin asked, pressing her back against the door and putting all her weight on it. Dean and Cas helped her.

"You really never heard'a the Croatoan virus?" Dean grunted as the door rattled again.

"No!"

"Lucky you."

The window next to them smashed in.

They jumped up from the door and raised their weapons again, backing away as some croats stumbled through the broken window.

"You think there's a back way out?" Dean asked.

"There must be," Yasmin breathed.

"What if there's more outside?" said Cas, much to Dean's dismay.

"Positive vibes, Cas!"

There was a shrill squeaking of breaks from the street, and suddenly the sound of loud, rapid gunshots filled the air. The back of the group of croats piling in the window fell in spurts of red, and it was only a matter of time until the bullets reached the front.

"Down!" Dean shouted, and they dove for cover behind the row of registers. Momentarily, bullets flew over their heads, hitting the steel aisles in loud bangs and making cans and jars explode.

Then it stopped, and everything was relatively quiet.

He heard muffled shouts from outside, and it sounded like someone was ordering others to check the rest of the town. The three of them stayed still and quiet, trying hard to control their labored breathing.

The bell over the door chimed and slow, booted footsteps filled Dean's ears. He took in a deep breath of preparation, reaching inside his jacket to swap his Colt for Ruby's knife. He made eye contact with Cas and Yasmin, and then he held up three fingers.

One finger went down.

Then another.

"Hands up!" someone yelled at once. Dean looked up quickly to see a small black woman standing over the register, pointing an artillery rifle down at them. "Weapons down!" She risked looking over her shoulder, her short curls bouncing around her as she moved. "Porter! Over here!"

There were more footsteps, and a dark-featured man appeared at her side. Another artillery rifle was trained on them.

"We don't have the virus," Dean barked at them. He raised his hands up so they could see them, but his knife was still held firmly in one fist. "See? We're clean."

"Stand up," the woman ordered, and they did as she said. Next, she took a step back and told them to come out from behind the register.

Once they did, she eyed the man next to her and nodded meaningfully. He brought his fingers to his lips and whistled so loudly it made Dean want to cringe. Momentarily, two more armed men filed through the door.

"Search them," the woman told them, and the three men lowered their weapons and started patting Dean, Cas, and Yasmin down.

Every instinct told Dean to rip his man's hands away and punch him in the jaw, especially when Ruby's knife was pulled from his hands. Dean was jostled around as the man moved to his jacket and pulled out the Colt, and then moved lower to check for any more weapons.

When all three were finished, they placed the weapons behind the woman and stood back to attention.

"Well, you're certainly packing," she said, sounding only slightly impressed, Dean thought.

"Girl's gotta protect herself," Yasmin said flatly.

The woman hummed. "You're telling me." She looked back at the pile. "What's in the flask?"

"Water," Dean told her shortly.

She arched a brow at him. "_Holy_ water?"

Dean furrowed his brows. "You know about the demons?"

She snorted. "How can you not? They're in every town, every city. They might as well be in every home. Our lord and mistress' Enforcers."

Taking one hand off her gun, she reached into her belt and pulled out her own flask. She handed it off to one of the men, who unscrewed it and stepped forward.

"Drink it," she ordered Dean.

Knowing he really didn't have a choice, he reached for the flask and took a quick swig, making sure she saw it. It tasted dirty and stale, but he forced it down before passing it to Yasmin. When all three of them were finished, the woman still kept her weapon trained on them.

"Your turn," Dean said, nodding towards his own flask. Another man picked it up and splashed some of its contents onto his hand to no effect. The same results came from the other three.

"Alright," the woman said, "you aren't demons, and you don't have the virus. Who are you?"

"Nobodies," Dean told her. "Just passin' through, lookin' to see what supplies we can get from here."

The woman instantly lowered her gun.

"Supplies? Aren't you on a route?" she said, looking back at the pile of weapons. "Where did you get these, then? From Boyd?"

"Those are ours," Yasmin said.

"Who is Boyd?" asked Cas.

She shared a look with the man she'd called Porter.

"You hunters?" Dean asked. "How else would know about the virus?"

She cocked her head in perplexity. "It's been spreading for weeks now."

"What?"

She nodded. "The first outbreak was the day after the attack on London."

"Where?"

"Winchester. The entire city got infected; it had to be quarantined—too late to stop the spread, though. The virus has been cropping up, wiping out entire towns in a matter of days, from here up into Scotland."

"So, you're _not_ hunters?" Dean asked again. There was nothing he could do about the virus, but he could find out who these people were.

She gave an airy laugh, seeming to not know what he was talking about. "_No_. I'm a merchant. Or . . . at least, I am now."

"A merchant?" Yasmin inquired.

"We bring supplies from London to the rest of the country," she said. "Food, clothing, medicine . . ."

"You're workin' for Morgana?" Dean shouted, his guard going up again.

"It's not what you think!" the woman hurried to say.

"You're supplying weapons," Yasmin thought aloud. "You and this Boyd person. Is he a merchant, too?"

The woman blinked at her, not giving anything away.

"You're not _just_ merchants, are you?" Cas asked, sounding as though he already knew the answer.

The woman seemed to be considering something, but she soon took in a breath and said, "No."

Dean, Cas, and Yasmin were led outside, where one large Jeep and two flatbed trucks with covers on top were parked on the street. More people with heavy guns surveyed the area or stood on guard nearby.

"This town is on our route," the woman explained briskly as she led them towards the vehicles. "That's why we're here. We were scheduled for a drop-off, but apparently they won't be needing it anymore. Most merchant teams travel throughout the UK—us included. We provide supplies for the towns the Committee tells us to. But then there's the unofficial route."

She brought them to a stop behind one of the trucks.

"Not every team is in on that, but the ones who are go to the communes and refugee sights. People from all over have fled the more populated areas, trying to escape and survive—or more. For them, we supply a little something extra."

She undid the fastens on the truck's cover and folded it back. Two of her men got into the back and repositioned a few crates and boxes until they got to a large, metal trunk. Taking it off the truck with them, they placed it at Dean's feet and opened it. It was filled to the brim with guns, knives, jugs of holy water, and large rosary beads. It reminded him a little bit of the Impala's trunk.

"Holy shit," Dean hissed in awe. "Anyone ever get caught?"

"Loads," she said. "But it's worth it. If they need to, people learn how to use these weapons quickly. Trust me, I hadn't even seen a gun in person before all this. Now look at me." She shrugged her shoulder that supported the strap of her rifle.

"There are some people even talking about an uprising. It's scattered and unorganized, of course, but the want is there, and we supply it. We're freedom fighters," she continued. "But you're a Yank, which means you aren't from this town. And, if you aren't on a supply route, I'd think you're not in a town at all."

"Nope," Dean answered her, pretty sure she was asking a question. "Our group's on a farm a few miles south of here."

"How many people?"

"About two hundred."

She gaped. "_Two_ hundred? My lord! How are you caring for them all? What do you do for food?"

"You're lookin' at it," Dean told her. "And sometimes we go hunting or fishing. And, like I said—on a farm. Some people set up a little garden. The tomatoes are comin' along nice."

For a moment, all she did was blink, and then she looked down and let out a thoughtful breath.

"But we could do with a steady supply of food," Yasmin cut in, her tone meaningful.

"Yeah, and some more weapons," said Dean, catching on. "Tell you what, give us a lift back and we'll show ya the place."

She agreed, and they all loaded into the vehicles and headed for the farm.

* * *

John stood by the splintered fence separating the property from the green hills beyond, his eyes on the horizon. For a moment, he considered hopping over the fence, out of the barrier of protection, and making his way over the hills. He'd considered doing that quite a bit in the past few weeks, but he could never bring himself to take the first step, especially with the chest infection that had been spreading throughout the camp. They needed him there, but there was someone else who needed him, too.

"Is today the day?" he heard someone say behind him. He didn't look over his shoulder, knowing that Sherlock would walk the last few paces to the fence and wrap his palms around its wood. He, too, looked out towards the distance.

"It's been a month today since I told Mary I'd be home in time for tea," John said, and Sherlock made no attempt at repose.

John let out a breath and shook his head.

"One month." He pointed outward. "And she's still out there somewhere—if I'm very lucky. I should be looking for her."

"And where would you start?" Sherlock asked, bringing John back to reality.

Sherlock released the fence and turned around to lean on it instead. His eyes surveyed John for only a moment before looking straight, across the farm and towards the trees.

"Anywhere," John decided, trying to convince himself to do it. He turned sideways to face Sherlock fully. "It won't matter where I start, as long as I find her. And you have to help me. You _promised_ you'd help me . . . Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He kept his eyes forward.

"Are you even _listening_?"

Then, John realized that Sherlock was staring fixedly at something. His brows were knitted in some mild curiosity. John followed his line of vision, and what he saw almost knocked the wind out of him. Three large vehicles were kicking up the dirt of the drive as they broke the tree line. A few people from the watch surrounded the car and trucks warningly, and the first vehicle in the line stopped.

The passenger side door opened and Dean stepped out of it. He had a few words with one of the men from the watch, pointing towards the house as he did so. When Dean walked away, the man he'd been talking to waved off his team, and the cars drove through.

"Where the hell did he find those?" John breathed.

Sherlock didn't answer. He quickly stood up from his lean, shoved his hands into his coat pockets, and hustled towards the house.

"Come on!" he called over his shoulder at John, and John didn't think to cast another longing look at the hills before he followed.

* * *

Sam had seen the trucks roll in from a second floor window of the house. He ran down the steps as quickly as could, passed the closed double doors of the living room, and outside to the front porch, where he met Dean, Cas, Yasmin, and another woman.

"Dean, Cas," he said, his wide eyes turning to the woman. "Who's—?"

"Where's Arthur and the Doc?" Dean interrupted him.

"Arthur is in the barn," Sherlock said, making his and John's presence known as they walked up to the porch.

"Get 'im," Dean said, and John nodded before running off in that direction.

"And the Doc?"

"Uh—he's inside," Sam said, nodding behind him. He turned around and led the group through the front door, where savory smells wafted from the kitchen down the hall. He could already hear the muffled tunes of a Santana song leaking through the walls of the living room.

_Got a black magic woman.  
__I got a black magic woman  
__Got me so blind I can't see  
__That she's a black magic woman  
__She's tryin' to make a devil out of me._

Sam opened the double doors and walked into the room, where Merlin was sitting on the couch on the tablet again and the Doctor was standing by the window looking out.

"What the hell?" Dean asked. "Was there another broadcast today?"

"About an hour ago," Merlin told him, putting the tablet down to give Dean his attention. He leaned forward on the couch and rested his elbows on his knees. The Doctor remained aloof.

"What'd it say this time?"

"There was a riot is Glasgow," Merlin said, "against the Enforcers. Nearly three hundred people."

"What happened?" Cas asked apprehensively.

"They were massacred," the Doctor spoke up, a dangerous edge to his tone, but he kept on staring blankly out the window.

The music scratched to a halt as the record player lost power, and the lights flickered off. No one flinched, except to glance upwards at the dead light. The gaps of electricity were getting shorter with every broadcast, but no one talked about it.

Dean ignored the loss of power and got back to the matter at hand. "Why have a broadcast about that?" he asked. "Usually, when there's a revolt, people try to get it under wraps so no one'll get the same idea."

"Morgana learned from Father," Arthur's voice filled the room. Sam, Dean, and everyone else swiveled their heads around to find him walking briskly through the door. John and Clara were in his wake.

"She wanted to make an example of them," he continued as he moved to the front of the group. He leaned on the armchair closest to the fire and his eyes flashed to the new woman. "Who's this?"

Dean, Cas, and Yasmin explained everything that had happened. When they were finished, Arthur asked, "What is this Croatoan?"

"A demonic plague," Sherlock said before Sam or Dean could jump to it, "spread through blood contact. It makes the infected homicidal."

"More like batshit crazy," Dean clarified.

"Is there a cure?"

"A bullet through the head."

Arthur nodded, looking back at the woman. "Then we owe you our thanks."

"_Just_ your thanks?" the woman asked as though the gratitude was good for nothing.

"Yes," Arthur said resolutely. "You're a merchant? You charge people money for your supplies? People with _nothing_."

She raised her brows at him, looking offended by the judgment but also a little guilty. "It's the _law_," she excused. He didn't seem convinced, so she let out a breath and explained further, "We aren't supposed to, but we let people off who can't pay. They give us other things—like a bunk for the night. We're not evil; we're just trying to make our way in this new world."

"You can do more than that," the Doctor told her. "You and your team travel all over. That means you can get through any checkpoints?"

"Yes," she said, seeming a little confused. "We have all our documents."

"That's how you can get the guns through so easily?"

She nodded. "If you have the right papers, the Enforcers rarely check your load."

"Rarely? People have gotten caught doing what you do?" the Doctor continued on.

"Unfortunately," she said. "But apparently they weren't as smart as me."

"Do you have access to London?" Arthur asked her before the Doctor could say anything else.

"Of course," she laughed.

"Can you get us into the city?"

Her face fell, and she blinked at him for a long time with a neutral expression.

"Yes . . . but I won't," she told him. "Do you think Glasgow is the only place where people are rioting? Groups from all over the UK are trying to fight back. I've seen good people die for nothing, while you've been sitting here growing _tomatoes_! I can put you on our supply route and I can provide you with weapons, but why on Earth should I risk my people's lives for any of you?"

Arthur turned away from her, running his palm over the curves of the armchair as he walked around it, apparently in thought.

"Because Morgana sees us as a threat," he decided to divulge. "During her first public address, she warned the citizens about a group of supposed terrorists. She showed three pictures."

He left the chair behind and walked up to her, standing close so she could see his face fully.

"Look hard," he told her. "Who do you see here?"

She studied his face for a long moment, and then her lips parted in realization.

"Oh, my god," she breathed, her eyes going wide at him. They flashed behind him, catching sight of Merlin and then getting a better look at the Doctor. "Oh, my _god_!"

"You probably have half a mind to turn us in," the Doctor said, taking a few steps towards her and holding his hand out gently. "But I think you know we had nothing to do with the attacks. Otherwise, you wouldn't be a freedom fighter."

She appeared to be having some kind of internal struggle, and Sam really hoped the Silence's hypnosis wasn't as strong as the Doctor said it was. Soon, she rattled her head and said, "No. No, of course, not. But . . . Why did she say you did it, then? Who are you?"

"I am Arthur Pendragon," he said. "And with your help, I can stop Morgana."

She seemed to consider this.

"Then, I will do what I can," she said at last. "But I won't risk smuggling all of you into London—not this time. I'm not scheduled for a pick-up in the city for another two weeks. I will return then and bring only a few of you. That's all I can promise for now."

Arthur nodded, accepting it. "Then it is enough for the time being," he said. "You and your team can stay here tonight."

She nodded in agreement and turned around to leave.

"Wait," he called in an afterthought, regaining her attention. "I've told you my name." He gave a lofty wave of his hand. "What is yours?"

She studied him again, her eyes scanning him up and down.

"Gwen."

Sam's eyes immediately snapped to Merlin, but Merlin was looking at Arthur with an expression of carefully constructed neutrality. Arthur, however, had his eyes locked on Gwen as though he wasn't quite seeing her, but rather passed her. Realizing that he was staring, Arthur closed his mouth and corrected his posture.

"Goodnight, Gwen," he said simply, and she walked out of the room.

She left them to a long gap of silence, into which everyone knew they suddenly had a lot to plan for but didn't know where to start.

"Two weeks," the Doctor spoke up, clapping his hands together. "We'd better start scheming."

* * *

As the days rolled by, they tried to keep their plans secret, not wanting to cause too much of a stir throughout the farm. Business went on as usual, except now they had an abundance of food and weapons for those on the watch. Gwen's team had left them all the supplies that were meant to go to the infected town.

Dean exited the front door of the farmhouse and stopped before the porch steps. He looked to the side at Merlin, who was sitting on the bench, and took a breath.

"Hey," he said a little awkwardly. "You, uh—Have you found anythin' yet?"

Merlin shot him a warning look out of the corner of his eyes, so Dean relented.

"Alrighty then," he said sarcastically before changing the subject. "You seen Arthur?"

Merlin looked forward again and nodded in Arthur's direction, and Dean followed the gesture. Arthur was walking towards one of the fires, a bundle of wood in his arms, and talking with two people. They seemed amused by whatever he was saying, but they soon left him to drop their own piles by other fires. Dean started in that direction.

"Hey, man, can I get a sec?" he asked once he was standing over Arthur, who was busy adding logs to the flames and poking the embers into place. He glanced up at Dean.

"Of course," he said, standing up and brushing the dirt off his palms before gesturing for Dean to go on.

"So, uh—I was just thinkin'," Dean started. "Gwen only wants to take a small group into London, right? Well, if no one else has called it, I wanna sign up."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "Very well," he said. "You'll need backup. I won't send you alone."

"Yeah, actually, some of us have been talkin' about that," Dean told him. "Chances are, if we're doin' some recon, we're gonna have to do a little bit of hacking, right? Well. Clara's pretty handy with computers."

"So, you'll be her backup?" Arthur clarified, and Dean shrugged.

"She's pretty gung-ho on going," he said, "and we shouldn't let the Doc go into the belly of beast. The Silence'll be too close. And then Morgana's got all her dogs on you and Merlin, so."

"Tell the Doctor he can rest assured that you'll be with her," Arthur said, and he went back to tending the fire.

Feeling a little better about the situation, Dean turned around to walk away, but Arthur called him back.

"Merlin tells me I knighted you and your brother," he said, his gaze on what he was doing.

Dean felt his stomach lurch. "Uh, yeah," he said a little nervously, but he let out a laugh to cover it. "Guess you wanna take that back, huh?"

Arthur's forehead creased in perplexity as he looked up at Dean. "Quite the opposite," he said. "In fact, it saves time. I won't have to do it again."

Dean let out the breath he'd been holding, and he couldn't stop the corners of his lips from quirking upward. Arthur smirked back.

Then, as Dean watched him, his expression fell. He jumped up to his feet, looking passed Dean in alarm at the forest. Dean looked over his shoulder quickly and saw a commotion around the entrance on the dirt path. Members of the watch were running in that direction to provide backup, and the ones who were already there were shouting and pointing their weapons up.

Dean and Arthur ran towards the huddle and pushed their way to the front. A little into the trees, Dean caught sight of an old, decrepit woman shuffling slowly down the path towards them. Blood was dripping down from her hands and stained her front. The blood looked like it was her own. She seemed in pain, stumbling with every step.

"Stay where you are!" someone was shouting at her, and the guns remained pointed at her. Next to Dean, Arthur drew his sword.

"It could be a trick," he said.

The old woman let out a loud wheeze of excruciation.

"Emrys," she said, her voice sounding weak and leathery, like she hadn't used it quite some time.

Dean took out his gun and put a hand on Arthur's chest, pushing him back. "It could be a demon!"

"No!" someone from behind the group shouted loudly, desperately. "Stop it! Leave her! Let her through!"

Merlin forced his way through the crowd, pushing people out of the way as he did so.

"_Mer_lin?" Arthur shouted, but Merlin didn't pay him any attention.

"Emrys," the woman wheezed again, sounding weaker this time. She collapsed into the dirt.

Merlin broke through the front of the crowd and ran to her side, sliding to his knees. He turned her over onto her back and supported her upper half on his lap, cradling her in his arms. Dean shot Arthur a look, and they both walked over to the woman. They stayed standing, looking down warily.

"It's alright," Merlin was cooing, smiling sadly down at the woman, who was already unconscious. "I'm here. You've found me." He whispered something else to her. Dean couldn't understand what he said, but he recognized it as some kind of Latin.

Merlin tore his eyes away from the woman and directed them at the group of onlookers.

"Help me!" he ordered, no longer gentle. "Get her inside!"

A few men scurried forward and picked the woman up. They carried her towards the house, and Merlin stood up to watch them go.

"Merlin!" Arthur said, trying to get his attention. "What's going on? Who is that woman?"

Merlin forced himself to look at Arthur. "She isn't a woman," he said. "Her name is Aithusa."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen.**

"A Dragonlord? A Dragon_lord_ . . . _You_?"

Arthur had asked the same question at least half a dozen times now, and Merlin really wished he would stop. At the very least, he could do Merlin a favor and stop pacing in front of him like a caged animal.

Merlin sat alone on the living room sofa, feeling very much singled out, but he supposed there really wasn't any other way one could feel after a confession. He looked behind Arthur at Dean, Sam, Cas, and Clara, who had all huddled together by the door and were looking a little bit like spectators of something suspenseful. The Doctor was standing beside the armchair on the other side of the room, his elbow resting on the top as he leaned into it; and Sherlock was standing behind him, next to the fireplace, with his hands folded behind his back.

Merlin looked back to Arthur.

"Yes," he said shortly, feeling a little affronted. "Me."

Arthur stopped pacing, obviously having fathomed something out. "Balinor was your father," he said.

Merlin raised his brows, not denying it.

Arthur scoffed. "Why didn't you _tell_ _me_?"

Merlin cocked his head to the side, giving Arthur a _you-must-be-joking_ look. Arthur got the message.

"Fair enough."

He started pacing again.

"If she's a dragon, why does she look like a human being?" he asked.

Merlin made himself more comfortable, preparing to give another explanation. "After the Doctor dropped me off in the fourteen-hundreds, I searched for her. I thought she might still be alive somewhere out there—and she was. I found her hiding in a cave on the Isle of Man, fully grown. She was scared and alone, so I took care of her. She'd been the last of her kind for centuries. Kilgharrah was already dead."

Arthur shook his head in question. "Who is Kilgharrah?"

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek in trepidation. "He was . . . the dragon your father had imprisoned."

"The one who tried to destroy Camelot!" Arthur shouted. "Merlin—!"

"I _know_," Merlin said, trying to calm him down. "But he did more to help you than not, believe me."

"No, no—I killed that dragon," Arthur insisted.

Merlin puckered his lips to the side. "No, you didn't. I only told you that you did."

Arthur's mouth fell open. "And how often did you do _that_?"

"Well—"

"Can we please save the domestics for another time?" Sherlock interjected.

"Right," agreed Merlin. "Anyway, like I was saying: I found Aithusa, but she was alone. Together, we found more dragon eggs scattered around the world, and I set them free. But the world had changed. The dragons needed ways of blending in, so I made it so they could appear human. They can shift back into their own form whenever they please, and this way I don't have to go hatch an egg whenever one of them wants a baby."

"But _why_?" Arthur asked, and Merlin couldn't tell if he was being serious or if he was angry.

"Their race was dying, Arthur," Merlin defended. "I had to protect them! It's my duty."

"Yeah, well, bang-up job there, kid," Dean cut in. "You know that your dragons are out there kidnapping virgins, right?"

Merlin stared daggers at him.

"How many dragons like that have you run into?" he demanded. "How many have you slain?"

"Just a few," Sam answered, looking a little shamefaced in Merlin's presence.

"A _few_," Merlin repeated with emphasis. "Out of the millions now on Earth? They're individual creatures, just like people. Just because _a few_ do bad things, it does not mean they're all evil."

Sam and Dean shared a look, but neither of them argued.

"Yes, but Aithusa was Morgana's dragon," Arthur remembered. "How do you know they aren't working together again?"

Merlin shook his head, not allowing that idea in. "No, that's not possible."

"Then why is she here? Did you summon her?"

Merlin bit his lip into a pause, and then shook his head.

Arthur fished for his eyes. "She could be dangerous."

"She would not do that to me!" Merlin yelled. He suddenly forgot about everyone else in the room but Arthur.

"And you know this how?" he shot back, matching Merlin's tone. "When was the last time you saw her?"

Merlin threw his hands up. "A hundred years," he admitted, averaging. "Maybe more."

"A lot can change in that time."

"Who are you telling?"

Someone cleared his throat from the doorway, and all heads swiveled towards John.

"She's awake," he reported, and Merlin jumped to his feet immediately.

Everyone followed him up the stairs and into the bedroom Aithusa was laying down in. Melissa was standing over her, patting a cool cloth on Aithusa's forehead and smiling down at her. She had gotten Aithusa out of her bloodied clothes and jacket and into a fresh, white nightgown; and gauze was taped in various places on her skin thanks to John's efforts.

"Thank you, Melissa. If you could give us just a minute?" John asked her.

"Of course," she said. She put the cloth back into the bowl and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

Merlin ran to the bedside and sat down on the mattress, taking one of Aithusa's hands in both of his. She felt cold to the touch.

"It's me," he said, giving her the brightest smile he could muster. She smiled weakly back and reached up with her free hand to gently brush his cheek. "You remember this face?"

She nodded and lowered her hand.

Behind Merlin, Arthur stepped forward, and Merlin braced himself for whatever he might say.

"Why have you come here?" he demanded of Aithusa. "How did you find us?"

Aithusa's wide eyes searched him up and down before shooting back to Merlin for help.

"What's the matter with her?" Arthur said, wrinkling his nose.

"She can't speak," Merlin told him. "She can only say a few words."

"Then how are we to get answers out of her?" Sherlock spoke up, and Merlin turned around on the bed sharply to look at him.

"She can tell _me_."

"Oh, well, pardon me for not accounting for telepathy."

"Let him concentrate," the Doctor snipped at Sherlock.

Turning back around, Merlin asked Aithusa in a kinder tone, "What happened?"

He felt something in the back of his mind, some sensation that he couldn't quite pinpoint. They weren't exactly words, but they echoes throughout his thoughts.

He took in a sharp breath at what he now knew, and he looked at Aithusa in sympathy. She met his eyes with a pained look.

"Morgana tortured her," he told the others, looking down at the gauze. "She was trying to get information, trying to figure out where we were."

"And how would she know where to find you?" Arthur asked.

"We have a connection," Merlin said.

"'Course you do," Dean muttered.

"_Dean_," Sam, Cas, and Clara scolded in unison, but Merlin let the comment slide.

"Wait, but I thought the only thing that could hurt dragons were those swords in the stone or whatever," Sam said, gesturing his hands forward. "Like Arthur's."

Merlin nodded. "That's true."

"Mordred's sword wasn't in Avalon," the Doctor reminded them. "The Silence must have taken it to Morgana."

"Did Morgana send her?" Arthur then asked, and Merlin looked apprehensively at Aithusa.

"No," he translated, relieved. "She needed a safe place to recover from her wounds, so she sought me out."

"Is she certain she wasn't followed?" said Sherlock.

"She wasn't," Merlin assured him, relaying Aithusa's thoughts. "She would not have come here if she wasn't certain she'd gotten rid of the demons. Her magic is more powerful than theirs." He looked to Arthur beseechingly. "She just needs rest and time to heal."

He felt Aithusa say something else, and his stomach dropped because of it. He turned back to her rapidly.

"No, you _will_ recover," he promised her with conviction, but she was looking at him tearfully. He shook his head. "I will not let that happen."

Now he caressed her cheeks, cupping them in his palms and feeling the rough, uneven skin.

"You just need rest," he whispered to her. "I will look after you."

She smiled, but it was forced, so he looked away. He released her and sat up straighter, about to stand up but she quickly shot out her hand and grabbed his arm. He looked at her urgently.

"Her jacket," he said, not taking his eyes off of her. "There's something in her jacket."

John scanned the room and pinpointed where Melissa had folded Aithusa's clothes and left them atop the dresser. He crossed towards the pile and picked up the jacket, fishing in its pockets. Soon, he produced a small, copper colored metal ball with elaborate swirls etched into it. He looked down at it in confusion.

"Morgana gave it to her," Merlin said. He held his palm upright. "Give it to me."

John rushed over and placed it in his hand as though the object were on fire. He looked happy to be rid of it.

Merlin held the object between its fingers in examination. "It's not magic," he said. "I don't know what it is."

"No, you wouldn't," the Doctor told him. He strode over and Merlin handed him the object. The Doctor held it up to the dying sunlight pouring through the windows. He reached into his jacket and took out his round wire glasses before squinting at the ball again.

"It's made of Cuprulleum," he said at last. "It's an alloy found in what you lot call the Whirlpool Galaxy."

"It's alien?" Dean simplified.

"A long way from home," the Doctor said. "It must be from the Silence."

"What does it do?" Arthur asked with a shake of his head.

The Doctor shrugged. "How should I know? Cuprulleum is used to make lots of things. You don't just use steel for cutlery." He studied the object closer, taking out his sonic and pressing the tip to it. "It's giving off some readings. There must be something inside."

He held it up to his ear and rattled it violently, and everyone standing around him jumped back as though expecting it to explode.

When nothing happened, he lowered the object and said, "I can open it, if you like. No saying what's in it, though, and it might take some time."

"Are we sure that's wise?" Sherlock said. "A gift from the Silence is bound to be dangerous."

"Probably," the Doctor agreed airily. "One way to find out." He grinned widely and tossed the ball up in the air before catching it again. "Or maybe there are two ways," he went on.

"What do you mean?" asked Arthur.

"Well. We could always just ask."

* * *

"Now, remember, this is only going to work for a few minutes," the Doctor was saying as he continued to push buttons on the console.

"It hardly matters. She won't tell us," Sherlock droned from his place on the other side of the console.

"Oi! Don't be a negative Nancy," the Doctor scolded him.

"He's right, though, Doc," Dean said. "She's a demon. And, even if she wasn't, I don't think she'd tell us the truth." He glanced over at Arthur. "No offence, man. I know she's your sister, but she's kinda a bitch."

"She's very determined," Arthur told him, both of them putting it mildly.

"We have to at least _try_," the Doctor defended. "Back me up, Merlin."

"I'm doing it, aren't I?" Merlin told him, although he, too, had his reservations.

"How does this work again?" Arthur asked, clearly uncomfortable with the plan.

At this point, the Doctor had stopped pressing buttons.

"I've locked his magic onto the Tardis' matrix. It will allow him to reach out to Morgana—be in two places at once. Well, not really two places; more like in between two places. He'll start out here and gradually end up there," he explained rapidly, talking with his hands. "It's like when the Tardis lands and it fades in and out at first. You know, when it makes the noise. The—" He took in and let out deep breaths, mimicking the whirling of the engines.

He was met with unamused stares all around.

"Anyway," he said after a beat, after glaring around at all of them as though he thought they were no fun at all. "Like I said, it only works for a little while because, like the Tardis, he'll have to land eventually, and we don't want that or else he'll be Morgana's. Once I break the connection between Merlin and the Tardis, he'll snap back here—safe and sound."

"And you're _sure_ she won't be able to trace it back here?" Sam checked.

"One hundred percent," the Doctor told him, rubbing his palms together. However, he seemed to reconsider this. "Okay, ninety-nine percent . . . Okay, the figures go down with every second." He regarded Merlin again. "So, you'd better make it quick."

Merlin felt his apprehension mounting.

"I'll make sure it runs smoothly," Clara promised him a whisper.

"Thank you," he whispered back before she moved from his side, clearing the space for Merlin.

"Now, you'll be the only one who can see or hear her, and vice versa. Don't let her know we're here," the Doctor reminded him, and Merlin gave a wave of his hand to signal that he'd heard and understood.

"Ready?"

Merlin nodded and, as soon as he did, the Doctor slammed down on a button.

At first, nothing happened. Although, he felt strange, like every molecule of his body was vibrating, and the air around him grew thin. He felt like he was floating in thin air and empty space. Soon, a dark room faded into view before his eyes. While the console room and the curious faces around him stayed solid, the new room was see-through and ghostly. Merlin instantly realized it was a bedroom, and he was standing next to an elaborately decorated four-poster bed. He was in Buckingham.

Beneath the covers was a sleeping Morgana, her curly locks fanned around her on the pillow. She looked like a phantom, her pale skin tinged blue in the darkness. As though able to sense the presence in the room, her eyes fluttered open. There was a moment before her gaze swept over to find him, but when it did she let out a surprised gasping sound and immediately sat up.

Merlin wondered how he looked to her: was he solid, or did he look like an apparition? He assumed, to her, he'd be a ghost either way.

"Hello, Morgana," Merlin said flatly, alerting the others that it had worked. He saw them all stand to attention.

"You're not here," Morgana tried to rationalize, only the tiniest hint of fear in her tone. She covered it quickly, but it was enough to tell Merlin that, even after all these years, she was still terrified of him. "This is a dream."

"This isn't a dream," he assured her. "But, you're right: I'm not really here."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me where you are? Make it easier for both of us," she said, regarding him hatefully. "I'd very much like to string up Arthur's corpse in the courtyard outside."

Merlin blinked at her expressionlessly.

When it was clear he wouldn't answer, she composed herself by sitting up a little straighter and asked, "Then why _have_ you come?"

"For this," he said, holding up the alien object.

She smirked at it. "I see you've received my little present. I thought that worthless pet of yours would go crawling back to you as soon as I was finished."

Merlin assumed Aithusa's betrayal had strung Morgana, and he couldn't help the surge of satisfaction he felt because of it.

"What's inside of it?" he demanded.

She gave a pitying hum. "Did you really think I'd answer that?"

"No," he said honestly. "But I hoped to do this the easy way."

Her expression dropped. "There is no easy way."

"There can be," he told her, glancing up at the Doctor for only a fleeting moment. "You have to stop this. No one else needs to get hurt."

The Doctor gave his enemies this choice, no matter what they'd done. It was the humanity inside of him that compelled him to do so, the part of him that hoped there was more than evil and cruelty in his foes. Merlin knew it was misguided, but he wanted it to be true. He wondered, out of all the creatures the Doctor offered a chance to surrender, how many of them took it?

"Is that a plea or a threat?" Morgana shot back, her tone icy. Merlin let out a disappointed breath through his nose. "Because I hardly think you're in the position to give threats; not while I have control of all of Great Britain and you're hiding amongst the squalor."

Merlin glanced up at Arthur, silently telling him that Morgana wasn't giving in. Around him, the bedroom was growing increasingly more solid and the console room, along with all its occupants, was becoming less visible by the moment.

"Ask her about Abaddon," Sam said, stepping forward into the bottom of Morgana's mattress.

"What does Abaddon have to say about this?" he asked Morgana, remember what Sam had told him about the other Knight of Hell. "Will she accept another Queen during her reign?"

"Abaddon's dominion is Hell," Morgana told him. "She cares little for an island on Earth; and, if my forces slay a few angels along the way and I bring her Sam and Dean Winchesters' heads on a platter, she's all the happier."

Merlin took a threatening step closer, glowering down at her, and she visibly tried not to flinch.

"If you touch Sam and Dean Winchester, I will kill you again," he said slowly, plainly.

She swallowed hard and clutched onto the sheets below her, but looked at him defiantly.

Around him, the console room was growing ever more distant. He could hardly make it out anymore.

"More threats," Morgana was saying with a frown. "You can't kill me, Emrys. I'm indestructible now. You? Not so much. I wonder if you'd still be alive if I had my army chop you up and scatter your remains across the planet. You've wasted your time coming here. What exactly were you hoping to achieve?"

Merlin shook his head. "I was trying to be kind."

"No," she said. "You were trying to be the hero, just like last time. And, again, it will be your downfall."

"And what will yours be?" he asked, a bite in his tone. "What did the Silence offer you when they found you? To raise you from Hell and give you the crown? And, in return, the chaos lures in the Doctor for them? Do you _really_ think they'll continue to hold their end of the bargain when you've handed the Doctor over to them? They won't have use for you any longer. They won't—"

A smile had spread onto Morgana's face, and she began to laugh loudly. Merlin tried to keep his expression even, to not look confused.

"Oh, _Emrys_," she said as though he had just hold her a joke. Her smile turned into a sneer. "You're even more foolish as an old man than you were in Camelot," she continued in a cold, slithering voice.

Merlin was just about to ask her what she'd meant by that when she and bedroom suddenly disappeared from sight, and the console room took its place.

"What did you do? Why did you break the connection?" he demanded, upset.

"One more second and you would have been gone," the Doctor told him, and Merlin let out a frustrated sound.

"What did she say, Merlin?" Arthur questioned.

"She didn't give us an answer," Merlin told them, and watched them all give a disgruntled groan.

"Knew it," Dean said, flapping his arms at his sides in a mixture of smugness and annoyance. "This was for nothin'."

"I don't know about that," Merlin told him, but he was looking at the Doctor. "When I asked her about the Silence, she did something that worried me. She _laughed_ at me."

The Doctor seemed to be thinking through the implications of this.

"Why—why would she do that?" John asked into the quiet, clearly unnerved.

The Doctor shook his head. "I'm not sure."

* * *

The farm was quiet. Everyone had gone to sleep hours before, but Arthur felt restless. He sought out Merlin, but did not find him in his bedroom in the Tardis. Next, he peered into the room Aithusa was staying in, expecting to find him there. He was not.

When Arthur entered the living room, he had given up hope of running into anyone; but he saw the Doctor sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet next to the blazing fire in the hearth. Its glow danced along the walls and shadowed his face. He had the metal object in his hand, and his sonic was ghosting over it with a faint hum. Somehow alerted to the new presence, he looked slowly towards the door and blinked once at Arthur.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, stepping into the room.

The Doctor merely nodded towards the sofa along the far wall, and Arthur followed the gesture to find Merlin laying on his stomach with one arm dangling towards the floor, his soft snores muffled against the cushions and his legs kicked up over the side, too long for the length of the couch. There was a blanket draped over him in such a delicate way that Arthur knew Merlin couldn't have wrapped himself in it. He turned his eyes back to the Doctor, who had his finger pressed to his lips, telling Arthur to be silent so Merlin could rest.

"Much needed sleep, if you ask me," he whispered as Arthur paced towards the smaller chair next to the Doctor and plopped down heavily in it.

"Yes," he agreed, rubbing at his eyes. Maybe it was the heat of the flames in the dark room, but he only just realized how exhausted he was.

Somehow knowing this, the Doctor said kindly, "You could use a kip, too."

Arthur snorted and looked off thoughtfully.

"There's too much to do," he said. "We're running short on supplies again. I need to figure out a way to ration them until Gwen returns with more. And many of those on the watch still don't know how to use their weapons. I have to schedule training sessions for them—"

"Yes, there's quite a lot to be done," the Doctor interrupted with a wave of his hand. "But you don't have to do it all alone. That's why you have all of us."

The Doctor was giving him a genial smile, and Arthur tried to return it.

"We've all been together for over a month and I still feel I don't know you all that well," he admitted.

"No, I suppose you don't," the Doctor answered, understanding. "But you know you can trust us—because he does." He nodded again towards Merlin, and Arthur cast his eyes at the sleeping figure for a pause before turning back to the conversation.

"Yes, that is true," he conceded thoughtfully. "And I am grateful for your help, but you each have your own responsibilities. I must deal with mine."

The Doctor sat back and stared at Arthur with soft eyes, seeming as though he could see right through him. It should have unnerved Arthur, but somehow it comforted him.

"You've settled right back into being a king," said the Doctor.

"I do what I must for the people," Arthur told him, leaning forward and folding his hands between his knees. "But I'm not the only leader, Doctor. You're the one the others look to for answers."

The Doctor let out a breath of laughter through his nose. "How misguided of them."

Arthur was about to laugh, too, when from across the room, Merlin said in a small, choked voice, "Arthur—"

He sounded upset—in pain, even—and both the Doctor and Arthur swiveled their heads abruptly towards him. He was still asleep, but he appeared to be dreaming. Arthur thought he knew what the nightmare was about: everything that had been going on must have brought up old memories, good and bad. It did for Arthur, anyway.

"He worries about you constantly," the Doctor said after a beat of silence and, when Arthur met his gaze again, his eyes were searching Arthur's face.

Arthur nodded softly. "I suppose he always has," he said, sounding guilty. "Sometimes it's as though he thinks I'm still gone."

"He's lived a long time," the Doctor told him. "You can't blame him for having a few bad dreams."

Now Arthur was surveying the Doctor. "And you, Doctor? Do you ever have bad dreams?"

For a moment, the Doctor looked vulnerable, but the expression quickly gave way to something lighter. "'Course, I do," he said airily. "Everyone does. I have one reoccurring dream that the universe has run completely out of rocky road ice cream."

Arthur chuckled genuinely, even though he knew the Doctor wasn't being forward with him. There was a darkness to the Time Lord—remnants of a lifelong war flecked in his eyes. Memories of battle, no matter how buried, demanded to be worn on the soldier's sleeve.

The Doctor leaned forward, too, some of that darkness now about him.

"While you were dead," he began carefully, "what did you dream?"

"You mean, where did I go?" Arthur interpreted. When the Doctor nodded, Arthur cast another look to Merlin to make sure he was still asleep, and then leaned back in his chair and sighed. "The in-between place," he said, sounding as though he was recalling a far-off memory. But he couldn't be sure if it really was a memory or just his imagination. Images and half-recollections sometimes haunted him from that place, that place so connected to the living world and yet so detached from everything.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly after some consideration. "It was strange. It felt as though I'd been there for an eternity, and yet only for a moment. It was completely void, but I swore everything that ever happened in the world was happening at once . . . It's hard to explain. Most of the time, I don't even remember it. I'm not sure I want to, either."

The Doctor was enraptured as he listened, staying silent as though willing Arthur to go on, but Arthur had no more to say on the matter. Instead, he said, "Don't tell Merlin. He'll only worry more."

When the Doctor nodded, Arthur let out another heavy breath and heaved himself to a stand.

"You're right, Doctor; I think I will sleep for now," he said, giving the Doctor a curt nod goodnight before walking away from the fire and towards the sofa.

Merlin was still dreaming with a contorted face and tense muscles, and Arthur watched him for a few beats before placing his palm gently onto his shoulder. Merlin slackened and relaxed at the touch almost instantly, and he let out a deep exhale and nuzzled his head further into the cushion.

Arthur was aware of the Doctor watching him with mild curiosity, so he removed his hand and exited the room.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen.**

"Be sure to stay as far away from Morgana as possible, and don't stay in Buckingham longer than you absolutely need to," Arthur was telling Dean and Clara, for what felt like the hundredth time, in the living room. He was pacing in front of them as he spoke, and Merlin, Sam, Cas, and the Doctor stood to the side.

"We can't blow Gwen's cover. She _must_ leave the city on schedule."

"Oh, trust me, we know," Dean droned. "She already said she'd leave us flat if we were late."

"See to it that you aren't," Arthur said one last time. He stopped pacing to look at them. "Good luck."

Merlin stepped forward and held up two vials filled with a clear liquid in one hand.

"Drink this," he said, handing one vial to either of them. "It will disguise you. It won't actually change your appearance, but it will alter others' perception of you. It should last a few hours."

Clara turned it over in her hand, rolling it with her fingers. Dean uncorked his and sniffed it. It didn't smell like anything.

"Well, I'm happy you found the time to make a damn potion," Dean said to Merlin, grinning at him tightly. "Real helpful."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Bottoms up," Dean then said. He clinked his vial with Clara's and they both tossed back the contents at the same time. It took all Dean's willpower not to spit it back out, however. It tasted like dirty water, but he forced it down. Next to him, Clara was making a squinty face and shaking her head at the taste.

"Oh, right, I forgot to mention. It tastes like socks," Merlin deadpanned, looking directly at Dean.

"Yeah, I got that," Dean answered. He moved his tongue around to get the taste out of his mouth. "Thanks for the heads up, Mother of Dragons."

Merlin took the vials back and stepped to the side to make room for Sam, Cas, and the Doctor. The Doctor went to Clara and they wrapped their arms around each other. Dean heard him whisper private words of encouragement to her, and the hug broke. He put his palms on her shoulders and she smiled up at him and nodded.

"Don't have too much fun without me," Dean told Cas and Sam in the meantime.

"There goes the plans for the party," Sam said sarcastically.

"What party?" asked Cas.

Dean overlooked the comment. "Alright, I'll see you guys later."

"Good luck," Sam said.

"Never had that," Dean told him, "but, like I said, I'll see ya later."

He followed Clara out of the house and onto the dirt driveway, where Gwen and her crew were unloading the last of their supplies for the farm and preparing to leave. After a few more minutes, Dean and Clara sat down in the back of one of the trucks, packed in with trunks and heavy wooden boxes.

They were jostled around as the truck drove down the uneven road and into the forest, and Dean assumed the paved roads to London wouldn't be much smoother, not after a month and half of no maintenance. What was more, the cramped area he was in was hot and stuffy. He couldn't even distract himself from the discomfort by looking out a window, and he realized he wouldn't be able to keep track of where they were throughout the drive.

He looked at Clara sitting next to him instead, and she met his eyes with a soft, reassuring smile. She brought her knees to her chest and rested her wrist on them, upturning her palm in offering. Dean slid his fingers into hers and gave her hand a squeeze.

The trip seemed like it lasted forever, and Dean found himself somewhat surprised when the truck came to a halt. He heard voices asking for documentation, and he realized they must have been at a checkpoint on the outskirts of London. He roused Clara, who had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, and she awoke with a soft squeak.

"Almost there," he whispered, and a scared look flashed in her big eyes before she steeled herself and nodded.

About fifteen minutes later, the truck came to another stop, the flaps on the cover over them were pushed back and the latch was lowered to reveal the harsh sunlight. Dean winced at it and blocked it out with his hand until he made out Gwen's silhouette.

"I've gotten you as close as I can go," she said as Dean and Clara jumped out of the back and stretched out. They were parked right next to a large, public square with two massive fountains whose water had gone stagnant and green. Dominating the area was a tall pillar with a statue on top that Dean thought he'd seen in a picture once, but it was hard to tell. The lion statues at the base of the pillar were graffitied, and the surrounding area wasn't much cleaner. On some spots, the walls were blackened and charred or crumbled.

"Sonovabitch," Dean breathed at the state of it all.

"Oh, my stars," Clara whispered congruently, and it knocked Dean out of his thoughts long enough to shoot her an incredulous look.

"_Really_?" he asked about her choice of words, and she shrugged innocently. He turned back to Gwen. "Where are we?"

"Trafalgar Square," Clara answered mournfully before Gwen could. "Where is everyone?"

"People have tried to get as far from Central London as possible," Gwen said. "It's roaming with Enforcers, so be careful. I trust you know how to get to Buckingham from here, Clara?"

Clara nodded.

"Good. We're loading up in Victoria Station. Meet us back here in two hours or—"

"We're stuck," Dean finished for her. "Got it."

Gwen got back into the truck and the caravan drove off, leaving Dean and Clara to make their own way. They tried to stay in the shadows cast by the buildings as Clara led him through the streets, which were entirely desolate except for a few wild swans and stray animals picking at garbage. St. James' Park wasn't much better. It was unkempt and overgrown and a layer of moss floated on the ponds, which gave off the stench of something close to sewage water. Dean ignored it, and they continued on the walkway until they reached Buckingham's gates.

They crouched behind the wall across the street, peering over it at the clean white uniforms of the half a dozen Enforcers that stood outside the golden gates. Dean always wanted to make faces at a statuesque Royal guard, but he guessed the demons wouldn't be so tolerant.

"How d'we get in?" he muttered, looking for a weak point between the guards.

"You know, not too long ago, some people hopped the back fence and camped out in the garden," Clara told him thoughtfully.

He looked at her with a raised brow. "You bring a tent?"

"And marshmallows," she said, beaming. "Come on."

Still crouching, they skirted along the wall and made their way back into the park.

* * *

Merlin slid down the wall of the barn and brought his knees to his chest. He'd had a headache in the back of his mind all day, pounding like a heartbeat, and he thought he just needed a bit of fresh air and to sit down. Around him, he was vaguely aware of the rest of the farm buzzing about, just as he was conscious of the small bits of grass beneath him pricking him through his jeans. He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, but after a few minutes he noticed the darkness in his eyelids had become too pronounced.

He winked one eye open to find Sam standing over him. He was holding a plate in his hand.

"Hey," he said. "Stole one of these from the kitchen and figured you might want it."

He passed the plate down and Merlin found two halves of a sandwich on it, one with a large bite taken out. He snorted a laugh.

"You're just trying to pass it off, aren't you?" he said. "Not a fan of marmite?"

Sam chuckled and tucked in next to Merlin on the wall. He shrugged. "Yeah, it—uh." He squinted in the sun, looking for the right words. "It kinda sucks."

"Love it or hate it," Merlin joked, taking a bite. As he chewed, he looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye, trying to find traces of the angel within. On the surface, he was just Sam, and Merlin wondered how deep that went. How far was Zeke? Deep down in the soul or right beneath the skin?

Merlin knew he shouldn't question Sam about anything having to do with Zeke or the trials. It was encroaching on dangerous territory, or so Dean said. But, then again, Dean wasn't there, and Merlin was still wary about helping him—or, at least, helping Zeke. He didn't want to lie to Sam.

Deciding to jump the gun, he asked, "How are you feeling, Sam?"

Sam pulled a frown and shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Why?"

"Just making sure. You don't always seem yourself."

"What, have you been talking to Dean?" he laughed, somewhat forcefully.

"I've been talking to you," Merlin told him. "Last time we did, you said you were wondering why you were still alive. I think that merits concern."

"Well—I am alive," Sam said, sounding a little snippy.

Suddenly, the pain in Merlin's head spiked. He brought a hand up and rubbed at his temple, trying to push the soreness away. He gave Sam his attention again.

"Don't sound so inconvenienced by it," he said. "It's a good thing."

"Yeah, maybe for me," Sam shot back. "But I think everyone on this farm right now would say something else if they knew."

"You can't think like that," Merlin said, shaking his head into his hand against the pain. He was aware of Sam giving him a strange look, but he pushed on. "You can't think the world would be better off with you dead. I know where that leads. I was like you once—always ready for self-sacrifice—"

He stopped himself, trying to come up with some words of advice, but he found he came up short. Experience told him nothing. Merlin would have liked to think that the years had changed him, and he was no longer the same man he was in his youth. And yet, he would still die for Arthur. More that that, he would still live for him.

"So, what? You're saying nothing's worth dying for?"

"No! Some things are, but not if there's another way. There's always a choice."

Sam looked away and shook his head. "Yeah, and I picked the wrong one."

"You didn't pick at all," Merlin thought.

"What d'you mean?" Sam asked, looking back at him.

Merlin realized he said that aloud. He hadn't meant to, but it was hard to focus. His head felt like it was splitting in two. He let the plate slip out of his fist and fall to the ground as he clasped both hands to his forehead and groaned.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam asked in concern, sitting up straighter.

"I don't know, I—No. Something's wrong."

"What? Merlin—"

Suddenly, the pain broke, leaving his head clear. And he understood what was wrong.

"Aithusa," he whispered.

"What?"

The realization made Merlin scramble to his feet and run as fast as he could towards the farmhouse. He heard Sam shout his name again, but he didn't stop. He rushed up the porch steps and tore through the front door, up the steps, and into the room Aithusa was occupying.

Melissa was standing over her, looking frantic as she caught sight of Merlin.

"I don't know what happened," she cried. "She just stopped breathing!"

Merlin ran to the bed and jumped onto his knees on top of it, immediately placing two fingers under Aithusa's jaw to search for a pulse. There was none.

Rushing footfalls echoed down the corridor until Sam slid to a halt in the doorway.

"Get some water!" Merlin yelled to Melissa, not able to think of a better excuse to get her out of the room. She left regardless, and Merlin didn't hesitate to place both palms over Aithusa's heart and let his magic flow through his skin. He attempted several incantations, but none of them elicited a response.

"Should I get John?" Sam asked hurriedly.

"No need," Merlin said, barely looking up at him. He laid his palms flatter and tried restarting the heart with CPR, but Aithusa's body only bounced on the mattress springs with every pump. He carried on still, refusing to admit that it was no use.

Sam looked on helplessly at first, but not after long his expression turned to sympathy.

And Merlin gave in.

He jumped back from the body and onto his feet, letting out an angered half-shout. His fingers clutched at his hair as he turned away from the mattress, all of his might going into fighting back the water welling in his eyes.

When he caught his breath, he locked eyes with Sam across the mattress and nodded, more to himself than to Sam.

"Okay," he said in acceptance, as though the word would make it so. He took in a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would fill the empty space in his gut. It didn't, so he exhaled.

His gaze found the body again, eyeing the blood soaked gauzes and frail, papery skin. Aithusa had been tortured so that Merlin might be found. She died so that he never would be.

"_I'm sorry_," he whispered to her in the dragon tongue, fighting back the images that flashed in his mind from so long ago. He saw a little white dragon crack out of an egg. He'd been crying then, too.

Merlin felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and he didn't have to look around to know it was Sam.

"Can you give us a minute?" he asked in a small voice. Sam removed his hand and wordlessly started out of the room.

"_Just_ a minute. No more," Merlin clarified, squaring his jaw bravely and making eye contact with Sam. He learned long ago that nothing good came from grieving. "Then, I bury her."

Sam seemed to understand. He nodded.

"_We_ bury her," he corrected, and he shut the door behind him, giving Merlin privacy.

* * *

Unlike the surrounding area, the inside of the Palace was still immaculate with golden embroidered walls and ceilings and ruby red carpets lining the halls. Dean and Clara did as they were advised and stayed away from the apartments, the throne room, or any room Morgana might have been in—or at least they tried. It was difficult not to get lost or turned around, especially when they were trying to avoid running into anyone.

Merlin's potion seemed to be working. Whenever they did see a group of people, they were passed by as though invisible. No one batted an eyelash at their presence, and Dean breathed a little easier because no one was sounding any alarms. Still, he found himself clutching at the knife in his jacket at all times, wary of the amount of demons surrounding him. He was sure there were some humans still in those walls, even though they were probably under the Silence's influence, but there was no inconspicuous way of telling who was human and who was demon.

Eventually, they found their way to the Royal press offices and staterooms, which were buzzing with Enforcers, military personnel, and what looked like regular office workers.

"Where d'we start?" Dean muttered as he and Clara came to a stop at the top of the corridor.

"We need to find an empty office," Clara said. "I can get us into their records from any computer in the network, but it might take a while."

"You can?" he asked, looking down at her in something close to awe. "Clara Oswald, you are some kinda wonderful."

She smirked sidelong at him.

Dean looked straight again, scanning the bustling workers for anyone coming out of an office, and he questioned if people would notice he and Clara weren't supposed to be there.

"Wonder who they see us as," he said. If they appeared to be military officials or something of the like, procuring an office wouldn't be hard, but was he willing to take that chance?

"Hey! You!"

Dean brought his eyes front to find a large man in the white Enforcer uniform coming their way. Dean couldn't help himself from tensing his posture in preparation for a fight, and his fingers itched to take out Ruby's knife.

"What do you think you're doing?" the demon demanded of Dean. He was now right in front of them. "Leave this woman alone. She's got work to do, I'm sure."

Dean gaped, letting out unsure noises as his eyes flashed from the Enforcer to Clara.

"And _you_, get down to the throne room. Now!"

"Throne room?" Dean managed to choke out, his eyes going wide.

The Enforcer went on as though he'd said nothing. "We've got a broadcast scheduled for thirty minutes from now. Go do your job and set up the equipment. Go on, get going!"

Dean blinked at him in shock for a few beats, which seemed to agitate the demon further. He grabbed Dean by the arm and started leading him back toward the stairwell, and Dean had no choice but to follow. He couldn't blow their cover.

Then again, splitting up wasn't part of the plan, and going into the throne room was strictly _against_ it.

He looked over his shoulder to Clara, who was staring after him with large eyes, but kept her panic in check. She swallowed it down and gave him a brave nod, and then she turned and started purposefully in the opposite direction.

Dean took in a breath through his nose to steady himself and let the demon lead the way.

He left Dean with a small group right outside the grand double doors. They were loading broadcasting equipment onto carts, while other pieces of machinery were carried. Something that looked like a speaker to Dean's eyes was shoved into his arms, and soon he was shuffling through the doors with the rest of the group.

The throne room was bigger than he expected, but less gaudy than he imagined. Part of him expected large banners hanging from the ceilings and hoards of medieval monks, knights in armor, and court officials in elaborate robes lining the walls—but it was possible he'd watched too many fantasy films.

Trying to keep himself from giving an impressed whistle, he brought his gaze away from the room at large and focused on the single throne on the other end of the hall. Morgana sat upon it leisurely, watching the proceedings with mild disinterest. More people were in the room preparing for the looming broadcast, and a few guards stood to attention a few feet from the throne's dais.

"My Lady," the leader of Dean's group said and bowed. The others in his company did the same, and Dean gave them a sideways glance before hastily following in suit. Morgana didn't seem to notice his hesitation, and he quickly followed the other workers to the center of the room to set up the machinery.

Dean had absolutely no idea what he was doing with the piece of machinery he had carried in, but he kept his head down as he idly plugged in chords where they looked like they might go. Every now and again, he would shoot a look in Morgana's direction from over his shoulder, but she didn't so much as glance his way.

At the end of the hall, the double doors slammed open, and a tall, dark-featured man hustled through. His uniform matched that of the other Enforcers, but his was jet black and a long sword swung at his hip. Two other men followed him closely on either side, but Dean figured they were only his lackeys. Whoever this man was, he must have been important. Dean didn't know too many people who could come into the Queen's throne room unannounced.

"My Lady," the man said after Morgana jumped to her feet at the first sight of him.

She rushed down her dais to meet him, a large and genuine smile on her face.

"I was beginning to worry," she said happily as he and the other two genuflected in front of her reverently. "I feared a hunter had gotten to you."

The man gave a sideways grin when he stood up. "We got to them first," he assured her. "Three—all of them slow deaths."

Dean felt a fire in his gut. He was rarely buddy-buddy with other hunters, but that didn't mean he wanted them to die by the enemy's hand.

"But we—_received_—information from them before the end," the man told her.

Morgana looked at him with breathless anticipation. "About Emrys?"

"No, my Lady," was the answer. "About a rebel group making their way to London from Cardiff."

"And?"

"They've been terminated," he assured her. "But that's the third group to attempt attack on London this month. The rebels are growing in number."

Morgana put her hand up to stop him. "There's no worry," she said as though it were all one big joke. "They're in factions. We outnumber the groups by thousands."

"But if they were to unite—?"

Dean had to remind himself to appear busy now.

"Under _who_?"

The demon leaned in slightly and dropped his voice. "You know _who_, Morgana."

To this, Morgana gave a wicked laugh. "Arthur? Let him come," she said nonchalantly with a wave of her hand. "I have an army at my disposal while he's been in hiding all this time."

The man shuffled around slightly, not meeting her eyes.

"Yes, but . . . my Lady," the demon went on, "he is not alone. The Toymaker failed. Arthur still has the Doctor and the Winchesters on his side, and Baker Street has been empty all this time."

Dean put his head down.

"UNIT headquarters has been empty for weeks, too. It's possibly they've gone to his aid."

She gave him a patronizing smirk and brushed her palm against his cheek.

"Fear not," she told him. "Soon, we will have all of them in our grasp. We stick to the plan."

"And if they don't fall for it?"

She chuckled again. "They can't hide forever. They _must_ be on a merchant route and, if not, they'd have to travel for supplies. There's someone out there who has seen them. In the meantime, question all you find. Tell them you'll reward them handsomely for any information."

"And if they don't cooperate?" he asked as Morgana strode up her alter towards her throne.

"Kill them," she said coldly.

The man bowed his head and started out of the room.

"Oh, and," she called towards him, causing him to turn around again, "if you should find my brother, kill him on the spot. And make it stick this time. The same goes for anyone aiding him, but be sure to bring the Doctor to the Silence."

He gave a nod of his head. "What of Merlin?"

A smirk slithered onto Morgana's features as she sat down on her throne. "Bring him to me. _Alive_. I'd quite like to kill him myself."

The man bowed again and continued the length of the room. The doors echoed as they shut behind him.

Minutes later, the group of technicians finished setting up, and Dean managed to lose them outside the throne room. He snuck his way towards the staircase that led to the offices, but he wasn't even halfway there when he heard his named being called in a harsh whisper. He looked to his left, seeing Clara beckoning him into an empty room.

"They've got him locked away somewhere," she told him after shutting the door behind them.

Dean furrowed his brows, not following her train of thought. "Who?" he asked.

"The Prime Minister," she said as though it were obvious. "They've captured him, but I couldn't find out where. But—well, that's a good thing, isn't it? At least he's not dead."

"Not necessarily," Dean said, hating to be the bearer of bad news. "They could be trying to get information out of him. Government secrets or whatever. He's alive for as long as he's useful. Dude shoulda skipped town with the Queen when he had the chance."

"I think I know what they need him for, then. That's not all I found," Clara told him ominously. "We know she's taken over the military, but it's not just for control. She's building weapons."

"What, like nucs?" Dean worried.

"She's not stopping with Britain, Dean."

Dean ran his palm down his face.

"Alright, we gotta get out of here," Dean told her, looking down at his watch. "Gwen and her guys should be done loadin' up the supplies. We better meet her and get back to base _A-SAP_."

Now Clara looked worried. "Why, what is it?"

"I'll explain on the way," Dean said, trying to recall every word said during Morgana's exchange with her soldier. "Now, come on."

When the coast was clear, the two left the room and rushed as quickly as they dared down the corridor.

* * *

Sam bent next to the rushing water and dipped his hands into the cool flow. He scrubbed at his fingers, trying to get the dirt caked to his skin and lining his nails to wash off, before cupping some water into his hands and splashing the loose filth off his face. Next to him, Merlin was cleaning himself similarly.

The sun was fading quickly through the canopy of leaves above them, casting shadows all around. It had taken all day to bury Aithusa, who they wrapped in sheets tied together by rope. They found a place to dig her grave about a half-mile into the forest, and finally they collected stones to mark the spot. Sam was exhausted, but at least the day had taken his mind off of worrying about Dean.

Besides, he'd rather be tired than in mourning.

Once he had gotten most of the soil off of his face, he turned his head to Merlin and eyed him up and down. Merlin was staring into the stream at the broken and darkened reflections casted onto the water.

"How are you doing?" Sam asked him sympathetically, and Merlin took in a heavy breath of consideration.

"Alright," he admitted in a soft voice, but then he shook his head and Sam thought he saw tears welling, but only slightly. "It never gets easier, people dying. You think it would, but . . . You just learn to accept it instead, to know it's something that will happen to everyone but yourself—whether you live eighty years or several thousand. But then there's a loss that reminds you what death really is, and it makes you want everything in the world to remain still. But it never does."

He placed a hand on top of the water and spread his fingers out, letting it rush between them. He closed his fist around it as though trying to capture a few drops, but they slipped away when he brought his hand upward.

"The last time I felt this way was when Arthur . . . You remember me then. I blurred when he died."

Sam nodded to show he understood—very well.

"For centuries, Aithusa and I were the only ones who remembered what it was like in the old days," he went on. "We were the only two who lived then, who knew Camelot was more than just a fairy story. And, I always thought, as long as she was alive, maybe a piece of that old world would remain. I could cling on to home somehow. I know it's different now that Arthur's back, but . . . she was there through all the years."

Sam didn't know what to say. He looked back down at the stream, giving Merlin a private moment to collect his thoughts. Shortly, Merlin began to shuffle and stood up, so Sam picked up the shovel lying by his side and followed the motion.

When he looked back over, Merlin was measuring him up and down with sad eyes.

"I'm happy you're here, Sam," he said thickly.

"Don't mention it," Sam assured him. "It's what friends do—"

"No," Merlin cut him off, shaking his head. "I'm happy you're not dead."

Sam suddenly became fascinated with the dirt beneath him. The words buzzed in his ears and made him swallow down his emotion.

"You know there's nothing I wouldn't do to keep you safe?" Merlin then asked, sounding almost urgent.

Sam didn't know why Merlin was saying these things. He guessed he was still raw from the loss, so he nodded fervently. "I know," he said. "And I got your back, too."

Merlin continued to scan him, seemingly looking for something in particular, and Sam felt a little exposed under the gaze.

He broke eye contact and looked up at the sky. It was almost completely dark.

"Hey, we should probably get back, alright?" he said, reaching over and giving Merlin a friendly pat on the arm. Merlin nodded in agreement and they started in the direction of the farm.

* * *

"_Nuclear_ weapons?"

Arthur had read about such weapons a few months ago. He'd even made Merlin download a documentary about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but he never considered that Morgana and the Silence would implement them.

"That's what I saw," Clara said surely. "They've already got the submarine carriers ready to go in Clyde."

"And she's got control of the Navy," Dean finished for her.

"But _why_?" Arthur demanded, looking around the room for answers. Before him were Dean and Clara, and Castiel, Sherlock, and John were crowded in, too. "These creatures have _magic_. Why use manmade weapons?"

"One bomb can kill or damage entire populations up to nineteen-point-six miles with no battle," Castiel said. "There are some human inventions even Hell envies."

"The United Kingdom has a stockpile of over two-hundred thermonuclear warheads," Sherlock estimated. "If they're building more, they're not looking for world domination. They're looking for extinction."

"Especially if other countries retaliate," John cut in.

"Would the Silence let her do that?" Arthur asked, his mind buzzing. "The Doctor said they've been on Earth since the beginning. Would they let her destroy the planet to get _one_ man?"

"Possibly not," said Sherlock, "unless they aren't the ones calling the shots."

Arthur felt his chest constrict. His eyes, as well as everyone else's, shot to Sherlock.

"You remember when Merlin brought up her subordination to the Silence? Then you'll also recall her apparent reaction."

The room fell quiet as everyone realized it.

"She laughed," John breathed, voicing everyone's thoughts.

"Alright, we gotta do somethin'," Dean said urgently, but Arthur turned away from the group and paced towards the hearth, trying to think.

"No more sittin' this out. Look, she's playing cool, but I think she's scared of us gettin' in the way. She's trying to find us and take us out. Said she had some kinda secret plan."

"What plan?" Cas asked.

"I dunno, Cas. Secret plans are usually kept secret. So, we gotta come up with one of our own—a better one. Anyone got any bright ideas?"

Arthur barely heard it. He was trying to recall every broadcast, every rumor given to him by Yasmin or Gwen, every piece of information that might aid them against Morgana. Pieces started to come together.

"Arthur?" Clara called from behind him, and he realized at once everyone was waiting for his orders.

* * *

The Doctor had tried everything to open the object Aithusa had delivered to them. Everything. He even tried a hammer in a frustrated state. The Tardis was his last line of defense. The object was placed on the console, and he attached sensors and wires to the orb.

He glanced up at the monitor for a reading. Something was emitting from inside, but the analysis was inconclusive. The Doctor bent down to become eye level with the object.

"Alright, you bad boy," he said to it defiantly. "Let's find out what you are."

Quickly straightening back out, he pressed a few buttons and flipped some controls, which lit up and caused an electric humming sound in the engines below. The time router in the center of the console began to pump, and suddenly the readings on the monitor spiked.

"Ah-ha!" the Doctor yelled in triumph. "Almost got you! Just a little bit of push!"

He whipped out the sonic and pointed it directly at the orb. It cracked open only fractionally, forming a perfect circle along its width.

The Doctor lowered the sonic quickly and ripped the object away from the wires and sensors. Preparing himself, he held it up to his face with one hand and slowly removed the top with the other. There were a series a numbers, etched into the metal, running flat across the solid inside. The Tardis translated the alien numbers in his mind, and he saw them as all zeros.

Slowly, the zeros faded away and new numbers took their place. The Doctor narrowed his eyes at them, trying to make heads or tails of the sequence.

"What are you?" he asked as though he could receive an answer. "Some kind of passcode? An encrypted message? Coordinates—?"

He froze.

"Coordinates . . ."

* * *

They were all looking at Arthur, waiting for him to make the call. He knew Morgana better than any of the rest of them, so he'd have a better idea of her tactics.

"What's the plan?" Dean asked, keeping his eyes locked on Arthur as Arthur turned back around to face them.

He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to begin, but the doors behind them slammed open and the Doctor sprinted through holding something up in his hands.

"The object—Morgana's gift," he stammered while catching his breath. He held up the face of the now halved orb so the rest of them could see, and Dean saw a string of numbers on it. He recognized the set up they were in immediately.

"Coordinates?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"_Our_ coordinates," the Doctor corrected him. "It's a tracker, and I think I may have just activated it."

Dean felt his heart plummeted and, by the way everyone else stood to attention, he knew they were having similar reactions. All but Arthur. He immediately jumped to action.

"Doctor, do we have the ingredients for the Winchester's potion?"

"In the Tardis."

"I'll make it," Cas told him. He looked to his side. "Sherlock, with me."

The two started briskly out of the room and the Doctor turned to follow them. "I'll go, too. There's something in the Tardis that will help us fight."

"The dark matter swords?" Dean realized at once. He remembered how they worked in Camelot against the Lamenta's powers. Maybe they could repel demonic forces, too.

"Exactly!" the Doctor called over his shoulder, and he was gone.

"The rest of you, get everyone inside the house or barn and salt the entrances," Arthur ordered quickly. "Accept anyone willing to fight."

Just before Dean rushed out the door behind Clara and John, he saw Arthur unsheathe Excalibur.

* * *

Merlin and Sam were almost back at the farm, but by then the sun had completely run its course and the bright light of the moon guided them through the dark woods.

Sam was a few paces ahead, and Merlin kept his eyes on the line of his shoulders at they walked. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, but sometime in the course of the day, Merlin decided without a doubt that he would do as Dean asked. He had to find a spell or a potion that would protect the angel inside of Sam. Merlin had lost too many friends in the past because of his refusal to act. He wouldn't make that mistake again, especially with Sam.

He was knocked out of his thoughts by a flash of gray in his peripherals. He stopped walking abruptly and turned his head towards the movement. Nothing was there, but he felt something. It was magic, or an echo of it: something old and forgotten and buried.

Sam must have realized Merlin was no longer keeping up, because he, too, stopped walking and turned back around.

"You good?" he asked, resting his shovel leisurely over his shoulder.

Merlin hushed him quickly, and Sam immediately looked alert. He held out the shovel like a weapon.

"Something's here," Merlin whispered.

There was another flash, this time on the opposite side as before. He turned towards it reflexively, but again saw only tree trunks. He brought his attention back to Sam, but he gasped at what else he saw.

Behind Sam were three stone statues, gray and winged. They all had an arm stretched in Sam's direction, standing mere feet from him.

Because of Merlin's reaction, Sam spun around to face the foe, and Merlin noticed the muscles of his back tense tightly.

Merlin turned his back to Sam to check for more creatures, and he found five in a semicircle in front of him. Some of them mimicked the pose of the other three statues, while others looked as though they were about to pounce. Merlin tried to keep each of them in his sight at all times, but they were too spread apart. Each time his eyes left one, it encroached closer.

"Sam?" he said, half-checking whether or not Sam was still there.

"Yeah?"

The Weeping Angels were getting closer still. Merlin kept his eyes wide and searching.

"Don't blink."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen.**

Dean pulled the curtain back to peer out the window at the barn. It was still and quiet, illuminated by the moon alone. The living room, along with the rest of the house, was packed. Everyone who wanted to fight stuck to the lower level. It wasn't much: mainly the members of the watch and about a dozen others. Everyone else had been placed upstairs or in the barn and told to remain as quiet as possible.

"Where the hell are they?" John whispered at Dean's side, standing on his toes to look out the window, too.

It had been fifteen minutes since the tracker was set off and everything remained calm. Dean couldn't figure it out. This must have been the plan Morgana had spoken of, but what was phase two? He swallowed hard, trying not to think of the nuclear warheads she was sitting on.

Movement in the tree line caught his eye, and he saw two figures burst through and run rapidly towards the house.

"Demons?" John asked, preparing the sword the Doctor had given to him. Dean gripped the one in his fist, too.

"No, wait—," Dean said, holding up a palm. He recognized those shadows. "It's Sam!"

He left the window and rushed for the front door. As he went, he called across the room, "Arthur—Merlin."

Arthur shoved passed a few people immediately to follow Dean, and the Doctor met them at the door, too. Dean pushed it open and motioned Sam and Merlin into the house quickly. He slammed the door behind them and locked it as soon as they were inside the entrance.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean barked at Sam, who was trying to catch his breath.

"Dean," he panted. "Angels."

Dean's eyes widened at this and he felt his heart speed up in panic. There was no way the angels would be working with Morgana. They wouldn't have an alliance with a demon.

His eyes flashed to Merlin frantically.

"Weeping Angels," Merlin clarified, but it didn't make Dean feel any better.

"How did you escape?" asked the Doctor.

Sam nodded towards Merlin.

"They're far from dead, trust me," Merlin said.

"What is a Weeping Angel?" Arthur demanded. "I thought Morgana would send in her army."

"She has," the Doctor said. He looked to the others. "She was their last mistress, remember? They still have to follow her commands."

"What commands?" Arthur asked.

"What d'you think?" Dean snipped. "To bring back your head."

John rushed into the entranceway.

"The demons are outside. They're surrounding the barn," he reported hurriedly. "They have torches."

"Great. Looks like you got your demon wish, too," Dean told Arthur.

"You take care of the demons," the Doctor said. "Leave the Angels to Clara and me. Dean, how do you get to the attic?"

"Hatch in the ceiling on the second floor."

The Doctor turned to Arthur. "When the Angels come, lead them there. They'll follow you, but don't let them touch you."

"Why?"

"Trust me," the Doctor asked of him before rushing back into the living room to find Clara.

"Dean, the barn!" John reminded him urgently.

"John, round up those with weapons and send them out," Arthur told him. "Then find Sherlock and Castiel and tell them to hurry up! Everyone else with me."

He readied his sword and tore through the door with Merlin behind him.

"Sammy, take this," Dean said as they followed, shoving the dark matter sword into Sam's hand. He took out his Colt and Ruby's knife instead.

The torches across the property burned a shock of orange against the darkness, and Dean wouldn't allow himself to imagine the flames engulfing the barn with everyone inside. It was hard to count how many demons were standing in the glow, but they were enough to encircle the barn twice. The fire tinted their white uniforms.

Dean planted his feet and slid to a halt on the grass. "Hey!" he shouted, trying to draw their attention away from the barn. Sam stopped next to him and, just ahead, Arthur grabbed Merlin by the shirt and jerked him to a halt.

It was better to have the demons come to them. Dean wanted them as far from those poor people in the barn as possible.

"You're lookin' in the wrong place!" he called out. "We got what you came for right here!"

The demons turned from the barn.

"It's working," Arthur said, holding his sword up. Sam did the same.

"I know it's working," Dean said hastily, but perhaps it was working a little too well. Where was John with everyone else? "How long does it take to round up a few people?"

Something whizzed passed the side of Dean's face, and he heard a yelp from one of the demons who now had an arrow protruding from his chest. He grasped it with both hands as the skin around the arrow sizzled, like it had been dipped in holy water.

Dean turned around just in time to see Yasmin lower the bow in her hands, already with another arrow fastened. The rest of the fighters from the house trudged behind her.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Dean asked.

Gwen surfaced to the front of the group, gripping onto the artillery rifle supported by her shoulder. "From me."

As the group around them rushed forward, Yasmin remained stationary and loosed another arrow, this one hitting a demon in the center of its forehead. Dean threw his head back, shocked and impressed. She was one of the best shots he'd ever seen.

"Stop staring, Dean," Yasmin told him. "These demons won't kill themselves."

She shoved passed him and disappeared into the shuffle. An Enforcer took her place at Dean's side, and he flipped Ruby's knife in his fist and plunged it into the demon's chest.

* * *

Arthur dove his sword into the torso of the demon beneath him. His skin flashed orange as the soul inside died and crimson stained the white uniform when Arthur withdrew his blade. In his latest skirmish, he had found his way to the side of the farmhouse closest to the forest. He scanned the area, looking for some sign of the Angels the Doctor had warned him about.

Suddenly, he felt as though the grass was ripped from under him. He was thrown hard against the wall by apparently nothing, and he regained his composure quickly enough to see a tall man in a black uniform walking towards him.

"Hello, Arthur," the demon said, his eyes turning black as he blinked.

Arthur jumped to his feet and gripped his sword tighter, trying to warn the demon off by twirling the blade in his wrists. The demon only smirked.

"I've seen that move before," he said as he reached to his side and took out his own sword. "It doesn't scare me."

The demon rushed him, but Arthur blocked his first blow and shoved him backwards. He didn't wait for the demon to steady himself to retaliate, but their swords clashed again.

"You're putting up more of a fight than last time," the demon taunted through their crossed blades. "But you're still going to die."

Arthur drew back and kicked him hard in the stomach, making him stumble back a few steps. However, it made Arthur do the same, and he staggered closer to the wall.

Once the demon collected himself, he let out a laugh and spat blood onto the grass. He leered at Arthur with crimson teeth.

Arthur measured the man up and down. It was strange, but there was something familiar about the way he carried himself.

"Who are you?"

"No one," was the answer. "That's what Hell does."

He rushed forward again, and Arthur swung in defense, moving his body with the blow so that he ended up on the other side of the demon. The demon didn't seem to mind that he was cornered.

"It strips you of all that you were, until the only thing left is black."

His eyes turned dark again, but only for a second.

"_You_ sent me there, Arthur."

He disappeared into thin air and Arthur found himself blinking at the wall. He readied his sword, looking from side to side in anticipation.

"Now it's your turn!"

The voice came from behind him. Arthur redoubled his grip and spun around to face the demon, slicing through the air with force as he moved. It didn't hit anything solid, and that unbalanced him slightly.

He dropped his arm, trying to find where the demon had gone. He saw no one in front of him, so he turned again to check behind him. He jumped back with a shout, and reflectively held up his sword, at what he saw. Inches from him was the stone statue of a woman with wings spreading out of her shoulder blades. Her arm was extended forward, her fingers close to his cheek. Behind her was about half a dozen of the same statue, all in different positions.

Arthur stared into the vacant, stone eyes. He reached his hand up to examine the face but before he could touch it, someone called his name. He turned his head abruptly to find Merlin running towards him and coming to a halt a few feet to his right.

"Don't touch her! Don't let her touch you!"

"Merlin—"

"Don't look at me, Arthur. Keep your eyes on her!"

The urgency in Merlin's tone was enough incentive for Arthur to listen. He turned back to the statue, which remained motionless.

"Are these the Weeping Angels?" he asked. "They're made of stone."

"Only when you can see them," Merlin told him. "Back away from her."

Arthur did as he was told. He held up his sword, though it was useless against stone, and kept his eyes peeled on the statues before him.

"What happens if they touch me?"

"To you?" Merlin said. "I don't know."

Arthur had to get them to the attic for whatever the Doctor was planning to work, but he didn't know how.

"How do I move them?" he asked, looking at Merlin in his peripherals.

Merlin hesitated for a long moment, but then he covered his eyes with his palm.

"Blink," he said.

Arthur put his focus back on the Angels and took in a steadying breath. He blinked.

When his eyes opened again, each of the statues had moved about a foot forward. They were all in different positions now. The one closest to Arthur had both arms outstretched, and looked as though she were ready to pounce.

Arthur squared his jaw, a strategy forming in his mind.

In the distance, there was a scream, and it took all Arthur's will power not to turn towards it.

"Merlin, go back to others," he ordered.

Merlin dropped his hand. "I'm staying with you—"

"_Go_, Merlin!"

Again, Merlin dithered, visibly struggling against himself; but, after a pause, he turned and rushed towards the battle.

Arthur began to pace backwards again. He held his palm up and felt along the wall, using it as guide. Soon, he came to its end, and he knew he had to break visual contact with the Angels to round the corner. There wasn't as much space between him and them as he would have liked, but it would have to be enough.

He prepared himself to sprint, and he tore around the corner and ran at full speed to the porch steps. There, he turned around again. The Angels had followed him and remained at a short distance. He backed up the steps onto the porch and reached behind him to open the door. Once inside, he slammed it shut and ran up the flight to the second floor.

The Angels were there once he turned around again, one standing on the last step while the others were close behind. Arthur took a moment to catch his breath and realized he had no idea where the hatch to the attic was. He'd have to find it blind.

A door to his right swung open, revealing Melissa.

"What in Heaven . . ." she muttered, staring at the Angels down the shadowy hall.

"Get back inside!" he called, instinctually holding up his sword at the Angels again.

She scrambled to do as he said, but before the door was fully closed he beckoned her back.

"No, wait! The hatch to the attic—where is it?"

She searched the ceiling wildly.

"There!"

Arthur risked a quick look over his shoulder. The hatch was at the end of the corridor.

He heard Melissa gasp, so he looked back immediately to find the Angels had progressed a few feet.

"Get inside—lock the door," he told her, and she did as he said at once.

He walked backwards to the hatch, internally counting his steps until he thought he'd taken enough to be beneath it. He looked up again the make sure, finding the pull cord right above his head.

The Angels moved again. They were too close to risk glancing away again, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to not blink.

He jumped up, missing the cord completely at first. The second time, it fumbled in his grasp. He got it the third time and pulled it downward, forcing the hatch with it. The steps to the attic unfolded behind him, and he walked up them carefully as to not trip or have to look away.

The room was pitch black when he got to the top. Not even the silver light pouring into the corridor below filtered through the hatch. The floor creaked beneath him as he rushed back, trying to put as much space between him and the stairs as possible. His back hit something solid and flat, and he twisted around rapidly. His sword made contact with the object, causing a loud shatter.

"Doctor!" he yelled, looking around the darkness. There was no sign of movement. There was no sign of anything or anyone at all.

But the Angels must have been up there with him. He heard the floorboards protest and squeak even though he wasn't moving.

"Doctor! Do it now!"

His heart was pounding and his breath was labored. There was moment that dragged on for eternity, and in it he was certain the Doctor wasn't with him. That no one was with him or ever would be again. There was no light nor sound nor touch on his skin. Just a sinking sensation, like he was underwater.

But then someone tore something thick and heavy from the window, and the light of the bright moon poured in and illuminated the attic. Surrounding him all around were the Angels, two of them dangerously close, but each looking off. They seemed as lost in the black as he was.

The rest of the attic was filled with mirrors, all in a circle facing the center of the room. Arthur looked at his shoes, and found he was stepping on broken glass from the one he'd shattered.

"That's seven years of bad luck, you know," Clara said from somewhere, and he followed her voice just in time to see her come out from behind the mirror closest to the window.

Arthur heard movement on the other side of the room and turned back to find the Doctor emerging.

"See? Told you to trust me."

Arthur gaped. "It took you long enough!"

"We had to wait for all of them to be up here."

"How could you know? It was pitch black!"

The Doctor shrugged. "I counted to ten-Mississippi."

Arthur's mouth fell open. "_Ten-Mississippi_?" he yelled through bared teeth.

He wanted to keep shouting, but Clara cut him off.

"You're sure this will hold them?"

"For the time being," the Doctor answered. He looked around at the Angels happily.

"Well, that was easy, wasn't it?"

"_Oh_," Arthur said under his breath, giving a toothy, frustrated grimace.

* * *

Sam swung his blade like a baseball bat. It was too heavy to handle it in any other way, but it sure as hell worked. It sliced through the demon like butter and caused it to crumple in on itself. The skin didn't even glow like it normally did when a demon was killed. The death was instantaneous, and Sam thought he'd hate to be on the other side of the blade himself. It packed more of a punch in its tip than most weapons did as a whole.

But there were still more demons than Sam alone could handle. Most people were fighting with salt rounds and holy water along with guns. It wasn't enough to kill, and the demons just kept coming.

"Sam!" he heard someone call, and quickly turned in the direction of the shout.

Cas and Sherlock were making their way closer to the barn, where most of the fighting was still concentrated. Cas fended off anyone in their path with his angel blade, and Sherlock held a large bowl between his hands, moving swiftly but carefully, as to not spill the contents.

Cas made eye contact with Sam and, over the noise, shouted, "Get down!"

"Everybody down!" Sam bellowed, his voice carrying across the grounds with more volume than Cas'. All around him, people started to duck, and he looked back at Cas and Sherlock just in time to see Sherlock strike a match against the bowl and throw it inside.

Sam let out a grunt as he dropped to the ground.

There was a bright flash that washed out the entire area in a pale white. It was like a bolt of lightening had touched down, but its blast spread out in every direction. Every demon the light touched burst and combusted, leaving nothing but ashy silhouettes on the outer walls of the barn.

A hush fell over the farm as everyone unshielded themselves and looked around in confusion, checking for any attackers. It took Sam a moment to blink the light out of his eyes but, when he did, he climbed to his feet and checked himself for any burns or injuries. There was nothing.

The silence broke into whispered chatter and then into celebratory shouts. Shortly, the barn doors opened and people tentatively started out. Those in the house must have also realized it was safe, because they started pouring out of the door.

Sam caught sight of Cas and Sherlock again. They were both smiling in relief at one another, and Sam shared the feeling.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice sounded from somewhere, and it didn't take long for Sam to pick him out of the crowd. Dean was at his side in no time. "You alright?"

Sam nodded, taking a moment to catch his breath. "I'm good."

Someone else called Sam's name, and Merlin appeared out of the crowd. He looked more concerned than proud of the victory.

"Have you seen Arthur?"

"No," Dean answered, suddenly looking worried himself. "Did he take care of the Angels?"

"He did," came another voice, and Sam saw a hand clasp Merlin on the shoulder. Merlin turned his neck quickly to the side as Arthur stepped around him. The Doctor and Clara were right behind him.

Now Merlin looked relieved. He beamed at Arthur, who smirked back tiredly.

The moment was broken when Gwen rushed up to them, looking somewhat frazzled and hurried. "Arthur, you'd better come with me."

Arthur's expression became harder. "What is it?"

"There was one that didn't get away," she said. "Yasmin caught him. She's taken him into the barn."

She led the way, weaving them through the throng until they broke free of the mass and headed around to the barn doors. Once inside, Sam saw an Enforcer sitting slouched in a chair in the middle of the largest devil's trap painted into the floor. Behind him, Yasmin was trying a rope in a knot around his wrists. She pulled it tight, making the demon grunt, and she seemed satisfied by his discomfort as she stood up and brushed off her palms.

"I found him trying to escape back into the forest," she explained, walking around to stand at Dean's side. "I thought he might be useful."

"Damn straight," Dean said. He looked at Sam pointedly and Sam nodded back, knowing what came next.

The Doctor did, too, and he stepped forward before anyone else got the chance.

"Let me first," he insisted.

"Doc," Dean said harshly. "Don't waste your breath. He ain't talkin' without a push."

"Small pushes first," said the Doctor, some danger in his tone, but Sam had to agree with Dean. There was only one way to make a demon talk.

"Let him try," Arthur said, looking to Sam and Dean. "If he fails, the demon is all yours."

That seemed to placate Dean, so he didn't argue.

The Doctor turned his focus on the Enforcer. "Hello," he said, almost pleasantly, taking a few steps forward. "I'm the Doctor—but you already knew that. You would have been told to look out for me."

He stepped into the devil's trap without hesitation. The demon bristled, and the Doctor looked down at his shoes as though he'd just realized what he had done.

"Oh. Yes, of course—your sacred space. You can do whatever you like with me while I'm in here. But not out here—," he jumped back out of the circle, straightened up, and grinned. Then he leapt back in and shrugged his arms out. "Do your worst."

The demon only glared at him.

"No? Not high up enough on the food chain to kill me? Or maybe the Silence want to do that themselves?"

The Doctor leaned in close, and the creature's eyes flashed black as though the gaze alone threatened it.

"These are my friends, Sam and Dean," he told the demon, nodding behind him to the Winchesters, who automatically put on their warrior faces. "They're American."

The demon's eyes faded back to their human color, but they were with fear, as they looked frantically from the Winchesters to the Doctor.

The Doctor's expression was set as he leaned in closer. "Tell me everything you know about Morgana and the Silence, or I'll have you tell _them_."

Despite the terror in its eyes, the demon apparently decided to take its chances and snarled at the Doctor in ways of an answer, and the Doctor stood straight. As he turned back to give Dean and Sam the go-ahead nod, Sam saw a sparkle of guilt in his eyes. Sam was sure it was regret for the vessel, and he remembered a time when he had that kind of mercy. It had been a long time since he'd forgotten it. He wondered how the Doctor reminded himself each day, year after long year.

Dean was already crowding in on the demon, Ruby's knife clutched in his hand. Sam shook his thoughts away and took out the flask of holy water in his jacket. Outside, Sam heard people begin to sing happily.

The Doctor slumped as he turned and left the barn.

* * *

The celebrations had ended and the farm was quiet when Sherlock, John, and Castiel walked into the living room, looking ragged and exhausted. From the sofa, Gwen, Yasmin, and Clara looked up at them anxiously. The Doctor, who had been sitting at the small desk in brooding thought, his feet crossed on the tabletop, sat upright in attention, too. Arthur, however, continued staring deep into the fire, his elbow rested on the mantle as he held his fist in front of his lips. Merlin watched him intently from his place against the opposite wall.

"Are the Angels destroyed?" Gwen asked hopefully, and Castiel nodded in the affirmative. "How did you get rid of them? Some sort of spell?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "No. We used a sledgehammer. Didn't you hear the banging?"

"Dean and Sam haven't finished yet?" Castiel asked, and Yasmin shook her head.

"Demons are always hard to crack," she said.

"They didn't use to be," Cas sighed, but he did not dwell on the thought. "If anyone can get him to talk, it's the Winchesters."

"Best settle in, then," John said into a yawn. He plopped down in an armchair and closed his eyes, trying to relax. It wasn't long until he fell asleep, and Merlin wished he could do the same. He felt weary, but he kept his gaze on Arthur as though trying to read his spinning thoughts.

It was well passed midnight by the time Sam and Dean trudged into the farmhouse, Dean wiping the blade of his knife on his jacket, soiling it with crimson.

There was an expectant air in the room as Sam nodded to them that the job was done.

"Well, we got the sucker to spill his guts," Dean said, and even Sherlock didn't raise his brow at the bad pun. Dean's hoarse voice still had a lingering harshness to it, and therefore did not allow for any humor that wouldn't immediately turn the stomach.

"And?" implored the Doctor, powering through.

Sam blew out his cheeks and flapped his arms against his sides in a shrug. "Where d'we start?"

"Anywhere will do," said Sherlock impatiently.

"Alright, we'll start here, smartass," Dean barked. "You were right about The Silence—Morgana found them."

"Yeah, she got her recruits who were already topside to look for them and strike up a deal," Sam explained. "They break her out of Hell and help her set up shop here, and they get the Doc."

"Must'a known you couldn't stay away from a fight, Doc."

"You've become too predictable in your old age," Sherlock interjected. "And what of Morgana's plans? Did he tell you anything?"

Arthur looked up at this.

"Nothing we don't already know," Sam told them.

"He was pretty useless after that, so we cut 'im loose," Dean finished, wiggling the knife between his fingers.

Merlin had always wondered about that knife. When Sam and Dean assured them that nothing too easy to come by could kill a demon for good, their knife seemed to carve away the life of every demon it connected with.

"Where did you get that?" Merlin asked. Dean looked at him quizzically. "The knife. Where did you get it?"

Sam shrugged. "We got it off a demon," he said shortly.

"Yes, but where did it come from?" Merlin implored.

"Some place in Asia, I think," Sam offered. "It used to belong to a Kurd."

"And where did _they_ get it?"

"I dunno," Dean said. "Rivendell?"

"May I see it?" Merlin held out his palm, and Sam and Dean exchanged a look before Dean handed it to him. Merlin held the small, jagged blade up to the light, inspecting the curious design engraved on the blunt sides. He furrowed his brow at the markings. They looked familiar.

He lowered the knife, conscious of everyone's eyes on him—but Merlin's eyes were fixed on Arthur's hip. He rushed over to him and grabbed the handle of his sword, unsheathing it in one quick motion, before Arthur could react.

"_Mer_lin!" he shouted in agitation. "What on Earth—!"

Merlin ignored him and compared the etchings on Arthur's sword to that of Dean and Sam's knife.

"Sherlock," he said, handing both blades to him for a second opinion.

"They're from the same maker," Sherlock said after inspecting them. He placed both blades on the table to study them further. "The curves of the lines—see how they enclose the other markings," he pointed out, running his fingers along Excalibur's design. "It's a signature." He turned to Merlin. "Who forged these?"

"They were forged in a dragon's breath," he said.

Sherlock grinned. "So, not only do dragons exist, but look like humans and work as welders?" he asked, his voice bemused.

Merlin shot him a warning look. "They're magic," he said shortly, picking up the knife by the blade and holding out the handle to Dean. Dean looked at the knife warily, but took it. "I don't know about Knights of Hell, but there's nothing on Earth that could survive these blades," Merlin went on, eyeing the sword now. That could take out more demons than a small blade.

The Doctor obviously thought the same. "You want to take the fight to them."

"We have no choice," Arthur spoke up, addressing the room in general. "Morgana won't stop until every man, woman, and child on Earth is under her control. We can no longer stand idly by. We have more weapons thanks to Gwen and her team. We have to at least try."

"We could have as many weapons as we want, but they don't work against demons," Dean said, bursting Arthur's bubble. "All we got are a few knives that'll do any good."

"Not necessarily," said Sherlock. "Your formula worked against them. If Castiel and I could get more of the ingredients, we could make quantities. We can make the bombs portable, and there must be a way to solidify it into bullets."

Sam blinked at him in something close to awe. "That's genius."

Sherlock raised a brow. "I thought it was obvious."

Sam opened his mouth to compliment further, but John gave a wave of his hand. "Just—don't even bother."

"Alright, fine, we have weapons," Dean said, getting back on track. "What about people to use 'em?"

"We have that, too," Arthur told him. "Or, at least, we will. You've seen the broadcasts; you know there are rebels and freedom fighters just like Gwen."

Gwen sat up straighter at the mention of her name.

"There are groups of us all over the country," she agreed.

"People ready to die for a noble cause," the Doctor said, casting a quick glance to Sherlock out of the corner of his eyes.

"Or at least fight for one," Arthur said. "They're an army in the making. We could find volunteers. We'll use Gwen's trade route to recruit."

"We'll have to teach them to fight," Sam said, sounding all for the idea. "Not everyone'll know how to handle a weapon."

"We can do that," John offered, looking between Dean and Sam. "Me, you two, Castiel."

"And me," Yasmin cut in.

"And Arthur, obviously," John said, looking back at him. "You've had the most experience training people, I assume?"

Arthur nodded, but admitted, "Not guns."

"That's why you have us," Yasmin told him eagerly.

"Okay, yeah, _we're_ willing," said Dean, stepping forward again. "And there are people here who'll wanna fight, but how can we get anyone else to come fight for us? What, we start handing out fliers? _Come join the anti-Morgana club_. I mean, there have been groups trying and dying for this. Why should they trust us?"

"Not us," the Doctor said thoughtfully. "We have to give them someone they already trust—someone they've looked up to since they were kids."

He looked pointedly at Arthur and grinned.

"The Once and Future King."

"Me?" Arthur asked, looking taken aback.

"Of _course_, you," the Doctor went on, moving close to him and grasping his shoulder tightly. "It's a name people know; a name that inspires. We spread the word—we can use the legends as our guide."

"We tell them stories," Merlin interpreted, meeting the Doctor's eyes. The Doctor grinned back wildly.

"Best way for people to learn."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "If you're sure it will bring people to us . . ."

"Positive," the Doctor said. "I've seen it done before."

"Then we have no time to lose. Gwen will take a group out on her next run."

"I'll do it," Dean volunteered.

"And me," said Cas.

"I'll go," John spoke up before anyone else could volunteer.

Merlin tried to bite back his grin. He knew he shouldn't have felt so giddy while they were preparing for a war, but he couldn't help it. To see Arthur in his glory again, to know the others were willing to follow him to the very end—it was something he'd only dreamed he'd see.

"We'll need a new base, as well," Arthur went on. "Morgana cannot know where we are."

"I know of a place," Gwen said. "There's a refurbished castle in East Sussex. It's been abandoned since the attacks. My team and I stay there sometimes when en route. It's more than big enough to fit us all. The only problem will be getting there."

"No, it won't," Dean said. "There are plenty'a cars in town. We can go hotwire a few."

"Leave now," Arthur told him. "Take some men with you."

Dean gestured to Sam, Yasmin, and Castiel and they all headed out without another word.

"In the meantime, I want the watch doubled. There's no telling if Morgana will send more troops. John, see to that," Arthur said. "The rest of you, prepare everyone for transport. Tell them to take only the essentials. We leave _before_ dawn."

The group broke, each person quickly scuttling out of the room to perform their tasks. Arthur stayed behind for a moment until the room cleared, his back to Merlin, who felt energy brimming through his skin. He couldn't stop watching Arthur.

"Merlin, wipe that stupid grin off your face and make yourself useful," Arthur snipped before starting for the doors.

However, Merlin did not stop smiling. He followed Arthur.

"Yes, sire."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen.**

Arthur stood upon the allure of the castle, watching as the last of the cars parked along the entrance. Groups of people unloaded their belongings and walked through the side gate and into the grass bailey surrounded by the tall walls. A large moat enclosed the castle on two sides, one with a bridge to the entrance, and the back wall overshadowed a sizeable, lengthy garden.

The side he was standing on overlooked a car park, which he doubted was there when the castle was first built, and a couple of homes that perhaps housed staff or served as gate houses. Beyond the castle was nothing but small patches of trees and wide-open fields, interrupted only by a country road and a miniscule cluster of houses and buildings in the close distance. It would be easy to see anyone coming from miles away, but there wasn't much they could do against enemy forces if that day should come.

He gripped the parapet of the wall-walk and gave it a shake as though trying to loosen the brick he was grasping. It didn't budge.

"It's made of bricks," he said, not looking at the woman beside him. "That won't do much in ways of defense."

"It's better than a few tents on a farm," Gwen told him, and he supposed he had to agree.

"It was refurbished as a study center for some university, I think. That's what I've gathered from my brief stays here. Anyway, it's well equipped for a larger number of people," she continued. "There's plenty of space here—enough rooms for everyone we've got and more. And, if we _do_ run out of rooms, we can use the houses outside. All the buildings you see were property of the institution. The land and location give us protection, and the gardens out back will be great for weapons training—"

She stopped abruptly, which made Arthur glance at her. She seemed to be thinking, and then she shook her head in silent laughter.

"I suppose you've already thought of all this," she said. "I don't need to tell a medieval king how to run a castle."

He arched a brow. "You believe I am who I say?"

She laughed again, but this time bitterly, and rolled her eyes up at the sky.

"After all that's happened?" she asked. "Do you know what I did back in the real world? I was London's regional manager for Boots. That all seems like a lifetime ago, and I now know that wasn't the real world at all."

"So, you're saying there isn't much you wouldn't believe anymore?" Arthur guessed, knowing the feeling. He looked back down at the brick.

"Well, I'm not sure about that," she said, considering. "But I choose to believe in you."

His eyes snapped back to her, moved. She was measuring him up and down.

"Is my trust misplaced?"

For a pause, he didn't answer. How _could_ he answer for sure? Promises had never been politics to him, because he always knew there was chance he couldn't fulfill them. It was better to not promise anything at all.

Unfortunately, he was never very good at that.

"Do you have a family, Gwen?"

She nodded. "A sister and a niece and nephew. Last I saw them, they were trying to escape the city and catch a boat to America. I don't know if they ever made it."

"If your sister is anything like you, they made it," he assured her, turning his body to show her his full attention. "They'll want to come home soon. I will do everything in my power to make sure this land is safe for their return."

She looked at him like she believed his words, and neither of them heard Dean approaching from behind Gwen until he called Arthur's name.

Arthur broke eye contact with her to regard Dean.

"Everyone's just about settled in," he reported. "You wanna say a few words before or after we set up shop?"

"Now will do," Arthur decided. "I can do it from the bastion." He gestured towards the adjacent wall at the tower atop the main gate.

Dean followed the gesture over his shoulder and then looked back with a shrug.

"Okay, but we don't have a megaphone, so speak up," he said and trotted back down the wall-walk until he disappeared inside a tower.

Arthur gave Gwen a parting nod, and she smiled softly and wordlessly at him in return, before heading in the same direction as Dean.

When he got up the stairs to the top of the tower, the people below were still walking around busily in the bailey, but soon people noticed Arthur looking down at them. One by one, the people stopped what they were doing to look up. For those who didn't notice, Sam and Dean were walking through the crowd, saying brief words and pointing up to where Arthur stood. Soon, there was silence.

"I know you're all tired after the journey," Arthur began, projecting his voice as much as he could. He heard it echo against the brick walls. "And I know it may seem like more running—but that ends now. No more running, no more hiding, no more simply surviving. I plan to take the fight to Morgana, to defeat her and bring this country back to its former glory. But I cannot do it alone.

"I ask for your loyalty and your services," he went on after a pause. "We have seen these creatures aren't indestructible, and with enough training we may stand a chance against them. It will not be easy and it will be dangerous, but it is better than living no life at all. You have a right to your freedom, and a duty to protect it. I ask you to join me in this battle. Training will begin tomorrow at dawn."

Nervous chatter was already rising up by the time Arthur descended from the tower and, now out of the sight of any prying eyes, he leaned back against the cool wall and let his eyelids slide shut against the din.

* * *

They sat in the buttery, using the old, empty barrels as seats and a table to hold the spare cards and quarter-full bottle of scotch. Poker was much harder with everyone calling Merlin out on using magic to cheat, but it difficult for Dean and Sam, too, who were scolded for cheating the old fashioned way. Sherlock was winning, of course. Sherlock always won.

Clara groaned and rolled her head down, making her hair flip and cascade around her. She'd gotten a good hand, but unfortunately it wasn't as good as Dean's, who was chuckling in victory.

"Don't laugh at me!" she yelled.

"I'm not laughing at you," he insisted innocently. "I'm laughing _with_ you. I just got a head start, is all."

He poured himself another finger of whiskey.

"What d'you guys say we make this game a little more interesting?" he asked, and Merlin noticed that challenge had come earlier than usual. But the alcohol was disappearing much faster, too.

"Your money's no good here!" John chided.

"Yeah, neither's your Monopoly money anymore," Sam defended.

"Man, I can't _wait_ to get back to using money," Dean said, sounding like he was in a reverie. "Tell you what, first thing I'm gonna do when I get back to America is buy me a bacon cheeseburger and then sleep in my own bed."

"Ooh, that sounds lovely," Clara agreed.

"What? Sleeping in my own bed?"

She swatted him lightly on the arm. "No! _My_ bed!"

Dean shrugged and rested the rim of his glass on his lower lip. "I'm flexible, sweetheart."

"_Dean_!" Sam, John, Clara, and the Doctor reprimanded at the same time, but Clara was blushing into it.

"Hey, this is a fun game," Dean went on as he picked up the cards and started shuffling. "The _What Happens Next_ game. What are we all gonna do when this is over? Cas, go."

Castiel knitted his brows together in thought. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I don't think Nora would let me come back to work for her. I've . . . exceeded my vacation time."

"Yeah, but saving the world," the Doctor said, "not a bad excuse."

"I suppose not," Cas agreed.

"I know what I'm going to do," John chimed in. "First, find my wife, and then go out and look for a new place since the flat exploded. Maybe a house in the suburbs. It's the perfect time for that with the baby on the way."

Sherlock snorted. "You would hate it."

John turned to him, looking offended. "What do you mean by that?"

"You wouldn't last a month."

"I _would_, too!"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and gave a doubtful hum.

"I bet I would," John emphasized, but he sounded marginally less convinced.

Sam chuckled, eyeing the deck of cards in Dean's hands. "You sure that's a bet you wanna take against Sherlock?"

John rustled in his seat, but didn't answer. He pointed an accusatory finger at Sherlock. "I _would_ last a month!"

"Yeah, whatever you say," Dean said. He started dealing the cards and nodded his head towards Merlin. "What about you, kid?"

Merlin looked at him in wonder, like he didn't quite understand the question.

"When this is all said and done, you and Arthur plannin' on going some place warm?"

He blinked, at a loss for words.

"I don't know," he said, puckering his lips and shrugging. "I've never really thought about it."

"What?" the rest of the circle said in various intonations, the majority of which held laughter.

"C'_mon_," Dean groaned. "All that time you've been alive and you never once thought—hey, after the big demon war, I'm headed to Hawaii?"

Merlin pushed a laugh and busied himself by fanning out the cards in his hand. "I don't think Arthur would like Hawaii."

"Who cares? I bet _you_ would," Dean argued. "Hell, I bet I would, too."

"Oh! I could take you in the Tardis!" the Doctor offered exuberantly.

Dean pointed in his direction. "Good point. Fuck it, we're holding off on the old grind for another week. After this, I say we all go to Hawaii."

Everyone else let out cheers of solidarity and raised their drinks in a toast, but Merlin found himself going through the motions half-heartedly.

He never considered that there might be an after to all this. After all those years—all that waiting—how could there ever be an end? How could there be a fresh start?

The thought spun around in the back of his mind for the rest of the evening, and it followed him down the corridor to the chamber Arthur was occupying. Along the way, he met various faces that had become familiar over the passed weeks, all happily wishing him a good night and sweet dreams. He gave them superficial smiles and greetings in return, hardly taking his eyes up from the floor.

That was until he turned a corner and quite literally bumped into someone walking in the opposite direction. Upon the impact, something thudded to the ground, and Merlin saw two candles roll along the tiles.

"Oh, god! I'm sorry!" Yasmin said hurriedly, swooping down to collect her candles.

As he caught his bearings, he stammered, "No, I wasn't looking where I was—"

He noticed she was carrying a large piece of paper rolled up and held tightly in her fist.

"Is that a map?"

Holding her candles close to her chest with her arm, she bit her lip down at the paper. "Yes," she admitted, sounding careful. "I wanted to see where Gwen's trade routes would take us. Just a visualization for my own peace of mind. I hope you don't mind me stealing it?"

Merlin kept his expression even, not betraying the wariness he was feeling. Her face remained innocent, and he couldn't come up with a reason as to why she would be lying.

"And the candles?" he found himself asking regardless.

She chuckled. "It's dark. I can't exactly turn on a lamp, can I?"

"Right."

He mentally shook the uneasiness away, chalking it up to the sinking feeling that had crept up on him during the card game. Yasmin bid him goodnight and scurried passed him around the corner, and he only looked over his shoulder once in apprehension before starting on again.

Arthur's door creaked as Merlin opened it into the large room. It contained a four-poster bed on one wall with a door that led to the drawing room on its right side. On another wall, a large, winged ornament hung above the elaborate chair Arthur sat in with Gwaine's head resting in his lap. Arthur was holding up a piece of paper and studying it fixedly.

Merlin felt a pull at his heart as similar images flashed into the forefront of his memory: a sight that was once considered so every day but was now somehow extraordinary.

Arthur looked up in perplexity when the sound of the door opening reached him, but his expression soon relaxed into neutrality.

"Merlin, I should have known," he muttered, looking back down at the paper. "Anyone else would be considerate enough to knock."

Gwaine left Arthur's side and scampered over to Merlin, who crouched down to scratch him behind his ears.

"I'm not going to start now," he reposed.

"I suppose I shouldn't expect it."

"Is this where you've been all night? We were looking for you."

"Why?" A look of realization passed Arthur face. "Is it poker night already?"

"Every Wednesday," said Merlin, standing up. Gwaine trotted back to Arthur's chair and curled up beside it. "You didn't miss much."

"I forgot," Arthur told him, rubbing his eye in exhaustion. "I've been trying to lay out a training schedule that won't interfere with Gwen's trade routes. I fear I'm putting too much pressure on everyone between practice and their excursions. And Castiel has to help Sherlock create the potions, as well—"

"They're happy to do it," Merlin said, brushing the dander off his palms and walking to the bed. He started turning down the sheets idly. "Just make a training schedule you think is fair and they'll figure out the rest amongst themselves. You should be celebrating. Half the camp has already signed up to train."

"And the others?"

Merlin fluffed one of the pillows.

"They'll come around."

"Merlin—"

Merlin glanced up and found Arthur raising a brow at him.

"You're behaving like a servant again."

Merlin stared down at the pillow between his hands. He hadn't realized what he was doing.

"Fine, if you'd rather not have it," he said, trying to make a joke out of it by dropping the pillow and throwing the sheets back messily.

Arthur shook his head in a chuckle.

"I'm going to bed in a minute, anyway. You should do the same."

Merlin nodded, but he didn't move.

It prompted Arthur to ask, "Something on your mind, Merlin?"

"No," he lied, very badly at that. He whispered it and he couldn't meet Arthur's eyes.

He turned away and walked towards the window which overlooked the bailey, where torches were lit along the walls and people still milled back and forth. He caught Sam, Dean, and John laughing and walking together amongst the crowd, and he followed them until they disappeared into a tower.

It took him a moment to realize Arthur had walked over, too.

"It's no Camelot," Arthur mused, "that's for sure."

"Isn't it?" Merlin asked, still scanning the area below. "I can hardly remember."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Merlin closed his eyes and nodded.

"Arthur, if we win this battle—_when_ we win it . . . have you given any thought to what you might do after?" he then asked, and he forced himself to look at Arthur. "I can't imagine you'd return to a small village after remembering what it means to be king."

"I can't see it, either," Arthur agreed. "There wouldn't be a place for me in this new world of yours anymore."

"You were assimilating well enough," Merlin told him.

"That may be so, but you know it never quite sat with me." He nodded towards the square below. "This is where I belong."

Merlin swallowed, feeling his chest constrict. "You're thinking of returning to Avalon."

It wasn't a question.

"Perhaps this time I'll make it to the other side," said Arthur thoughtfully. "I can see my parents again, my knights, Guinevere. I can meet my son."

Merlin said nothing, but he felt Arthur's gaze studying him.

"I don't expect you to come with me," he said. "You've made a life for yourself here."

Merlin let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"I've made so many lives here."

"And you've done much good in them," Arthur said. "You can continue to do so. You have the Doctor and the Winchesters to help you with that, if you so choose. It's time you lived for your own means."

Merlin wasn't sure he knew how to do that. Every life he'd ever built was for one purpose—for Arthur's return. Could he go on with his destiny fulfilled?

"Of course, that doesn't mean I wouldn't want you at my side," Arthur added, forcing his tone to be lighter than before. "It's entirely up to you."

Arthur lifted himself up from his lean against the wall and started for his bed. Merlin turned his head and looked after him.

He didn't understand why he was feeling so hollow. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Arthur wouldn't want to stay. He just never actively thought on it. Because he had hoped that, after centuries, he would get more time than a few months with Arthur.

He had hoped Arthur wouldn't so flippantly leave him on his own again.

They were selfish thoughts, but so were Arthur's.

"Anyway," Arthur said with finality. "As I said, you should get some rest."

"Are you sure you don't need me?"

"_Mer_lin," Arthur laughed, climbing under the sheets. "This is not Camelot."

Merlin looked down at the floor, toeing at the wood, and he eventually nodded.

"Goodnight, then," he said quickly, forcing a smile as he started for the door.

"Merlin," Arthur called after him, his tone suddenly more concerned. Merlin didn't look back at him, but rushed out the door as quickly as he could while still being able to maintain plausible deniability.

"Merlin!"

The door didn't quite slam behind him, but it echoed, and Merlin was surprised he didn't break into a full sprint towards his own chambers.

He passed the Doctor, who was walking in the opposite direction, on the way; and he was aware of him stopping after noticing the way Merlin was carrying himself.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" the Doctor called.

Just before Merlin turned the corner, he shouted back, "Hawaii!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen.**

Merlin made his way along the grounds stretching out from the back of the castle. Sam was on one side of the green, watching over a group of about twenty people hitting sticks through the air as though they were swords. On the other side of the pathway was John, teaching his group the mechanics of various firearms. Merlin looked forward at the overgrown gardens beyond, watching as people scurried around it in attempt to tame the trees and flowerbeds, to make the land more vibrant and homey.

He didn't see Arthur anywhere, so he stepped off the path and stood next to Sam, who had his arms crossed over his chest as he stared off in intense focus.

"Hey," Merlin said, getting Sam's attention for only a moment before he turned his eyes back on the practice.

"_Hey_," he sang, sounding glad to have someone to talk to.

Merlin nodded towards the group. "How are they doing?"

"We've been at it all morning and, actually, some of them aren't half bad. The rest—uh—need work," Sam replied, probably with optimism. Right as the words left his mouth, a man accidentally hit a woman behind him in the face with his stick, knocking her to the grass.

Sam bared his teeth as though he felt the pain, too, and Merlin cringed.

"A _lot_ of work," he admitted as everyone before them stopped what they were doing to look on at what happened. A few people rushed over to aid the woman, and the man who had hit her looked horrified and apologized profusely. She seemed fine, though, and got back to her feet.

"Alright, everybody, why don't we take five?" Sam called out. "After that, we'll switch it up and you guys can head over to John."

As everyone moved out of formation, Sam lowered his voice so that only Merlin could hear and said, "I get Yasmin's archery crew next. Hope she didn't have them practice with real arrows just yet. All we need is people bleeding out on their first day."

"Ah, the first wounds of battle," Merlin joked, and both of them chuckled as Dean and Cas strode up to them. They were both wearing large backpacks.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked.

"Nothin'," Sam said. "You two heading out?"

"Yeah, in a minute," Dean answered. "'Course, Cas here didn't know any Arthurian legends to spread around. The Doc had to download a few for him in Tardis earlier."

"Anything stick?" Sam asked Castiel.

"A little," Cas said with a sigh. "I only managed to memorize just under three-thousand lines this morning. Reading as a human is . . . a slow process."

Merlin raised a brow, but Sam and Dean let the comment slide.

"What about you?" Sam directed at Dean. "You sure you don't need to brush up on anything?"

Dean snorted and shook his head. "You kiddin' me? How many times did you make me read those stories to you as a kid? I know a bunch'a them by heart."

"Yeah, but did you ever think we'd be a part of one?" Sam mused.

"I had a gut feeling," Dean said sarcastically. "Don't know if half of the tales I know are true, though." He looked to Merlin. "Was there really a giant?"

"I'm afraid not," Merlin told him, and Dean looked mildly disappointed.

"_Man_, I was hopin' Arthur had a beard collection somewhere. That'd be cool."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"They don't have to be true. They just have to be inspiring," Merlin said.

"Yeah, that's somethin' to teach the kids," Dean muttered. "Anyway—," He gave Sam's shoulder a quick pat. "We'll be back in a few days."

Sam nodded. "Good luck."

Dean's eyes flashed to the sorry group of fighters still resting on the lawn and he said, "You, too."

Then, Dean and Cas turned away and started around the castle to the car park, where Gwen's trucks were waiting.

* * *

As the weeks went on, more people came to the castle after hearing of the plans for battle. Some of them arrived with Gwen's caravan while others made their own way. It was mostly hunters and soldiers in the Armed Forces that had escaped before Morgana took hold. There were a handful of civilians who had volunteered to fight and come to the castle in hope of training and shelter for their families, but it still wasn't enough to take on the demons. In six weeks, they only managed to get half the volunteers of their original count.

It helped that many of the hunters who volunteered also offered to spread the word, which hardly reached passed the midlands. The Winchesters, Castiel, John, Sherlock, and Yasmin continued to accompany Gwen on her routes in turn. John tried to get out as much as he could in hopes of finding Mary in one of the camps, but Sam, Dean, and Yasmin more often than not jumped on the opportunity to go with the merchants before John could offer himself. Castiel and Sherlock, too, were busy experimenting with the Winchester's formula.

Because of this, John often found himself in full control of training the men, apart from Arthur. The two men worked closely together to make schedules and perfect regimens for the newcomers and more experienced volunteers. The hunters and ex-military now part of the camp helped guide the trainees, and John was shocked when, one day, Merlin offered to help train them.

At first, John was wary, but relaxed slightly when Merlin informed him that he wasn't the only one who had a stint in the royal forces.

"You served?" John asked incredulously, and Merlin explained that he had little choice in the matter. There was a draft.

"Berlin. Before you were born," Merlin told him loftily. "Adolf never saw us coming." He didn't wait around to gauge John's reaction before picking up a rifle and helping the others with target practice.

Soon, the castle became draftier and chilled winds brought overcast skies. Less people spent their time in the bailey in favor of being inside, where the large fireplaces kept them warm, and they took their meals in the grand hall on the lower level of the building. They hardly had bouts of electricity anymore; Morgana's broadcasts were becoming less frequent.

The sun was going down as training for the day ended and John led his soldiers through the back gate and into the inner square. Tiredly, he gave them supportive comments and remarks of a job well done as they passed him by to put their weapons away and head inside for dinner. He was eager to do the same, but the bailey was bustling with faces he'd never seen before. Across the way, the doors of the main gate were opened and more people were coming through.

John caught sight of Sherlock in the mix and made his way towards him.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"The Winchesters have just returned from Ipswich. Apparently, there was a revolt after the people heard of Arthur's plans," Sherlock told him. "These are the survivors."

John scanned the crowd before him in a new light, but he was suddenly knocked out of his reverie by a head of short, light blonde hair in the middle of the throng. Her back was turned to him, but he felt his stomach drop in anticipation anyway.

"Oh, my god," he breathed, trying not to get his hopes up. But he couldn't help it. He took a few paces forward, not even daring to blink in fear of losing the woman.

She turned her head to the side, revealing her familiar profile.

"Mary," John whispered, gaping and blinking like he couldn't quite believe it. However, she did not disappear.

"_Mary_!" he shouted as loud as he could, but she did not appear to hear him. He shoved his way through the crowd, continuing to shout her name desperately. Eventually, she heard the call, and he watched her turn towards him with an expression of hope.

She gasped like the wind had been knocked out of her when their eyes met, and she placed her palm over her heart to keep it from bouncing through her chest. She pushed people out of the way to meet him sooner, and before John knew it she was wrapping him in her arms tightly and kissing his cheek repeatedly before pressing one to his lips.

"I knew I'd find you here," she told him like she had convinced herself. She was beaming at him brightly, and her smile was infectious. She placed her palm on his cheek. "Oh, John—"

Before she could finish her thought, her eyes flashed behind him, and her smile spread again.

"_There_ he is," she sang, releasing John to throw her arms around Sherlock. He chuckled deeply and allowed her to rock him back and forth before the embrace broke.

"We should have known you'd been the one to find us first," Sherlock told her, which seemed to please Mary.

"How _did_ you find us?" John wondered, finally remembering how to speak now that he was sure she wasn't a mirage.

"Those two men came to talk to us about the revolution," Mary said, looking behind her as though searching for Sam and Dean. She shortly gave up and turned back to Sherlock and John. "As soon as heard, I thought—That's where my boys will be." She wrinkled her nose in a smile and pinched lightly at Sherlock's cheek, which he didn't retract from. "And here you are."

"I was so worried you—," John began, but he wasn't able to finish his thought. For months, he'd tried not to finish it. "How's the baby?"

Mary's palm flew to cradle her stomach, which only had the slightest of bumps, and she nodded. "Everything is fine. People have been bending over backwards to help me—Greg, mostly. When it first started happening, he came by to make sure I was alright. Then Scotland Yard was attacked . . . He packed me up, swung by Baker Street to collect Mrs. Hudson, and we got out of London before the tanks rolled in."

She looked up at Sherlock and said, "Greg says we have you to thank for the heads up."

Sherlock knitted his brows together. "Greg who?"

John scoffed, and he didn't quite throw his hands in the air in exasperation.

"_Lestrade_!"

"Ah."

Sherlock's face fell.

"Where are he and Mrs. Hudson now?"

"Belgium, with any luck," Mary told them both. "Last I saw them was about a month ago. We caught wind of a boat that was smuggling people into Europe and they decided to take their chances."

"What about Molly Hooper?" Sherlock asked, and John was certain no one but he and Mary would have heard the urgency in his tone.

Mary shook her head. "I don't know."

Sherlock fell silent, his expression an unreadable mask.

John took his quite to turn back to Mary and say, "You should have gone with Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. You would have been safer."

She gave him a grin that was one part condescending and two parts touched.

"And leave my poor husband behind?" she asked. "Think again."

Before he could argue, someone called his name, and he looked up just in time to see Dean appear at their side. Dean looked at the three of him with curiosity.

"Oh, Dean, this is my wife, Mary," John introduced. "Mary, you've already seen Dean Winchester."

She gave him a polite smile and offered her hand. "Yes, nice to meet you in person, Dean."

As Dean shook her hand, a somewhat sly smirk pressed his lips. His bright green eyes flashed between husband and wife and he said, "John and Mary, huh?"

John didn't quite understand his meaning, but Dean dropped Mary's hand and his expression turned more professional.

"Hate to break up the reunion, but Arthur's callin' a meeting. Think you two can break away from the missus?"

John didn't want to, but he nodded.

"Follow everyone into the dining hall," he told Mary. "I'll find you there shortly."

"Oh, please, take your time," she told him with a light flutter of her hands. "I'll be there eating all night." She held her stomach again and bared her teeth in an innocent but excited wince. "We're starved."

She pressed one more kiss to John's lips before following the flow of the crowd.

* * *

Arthur, Merlin, Cas, the Doctor, and Clara were already gathered around the table in the drawing room next to Arthur's chambers by the time the Winchesters, Sherlock, and John arrived. Arthur wasted no time getting down to business.

"How many from Ipswich?" he inquired before Sam got a chance to close the door completely.

"Little less than a hundred, and less than half of that willing to fight," Dean reported as he strode towards the table, which was littered with loose papers and marked-up maps. "Most of the people part of the revolt got themselves killed by the Enforcers."

"What about the camps you went to beforehand?"

Sam shrugged. "We got a few more people to sign up, and a few others to think about it, but . . ."

"The rebel groups don't trust us," Dean cut in, not bothering to beat around the bush. "Most of 'em are itching for a fight, but they think we're all talk and they're better off alone."

"Yeah, and everyone else is scared," Sam went on. "Some people think it's Armageddon. They're looking to priests, trying to form holy armies like the friggin' Crusades."

"I wasn't present for those," Cas told them.

"I was!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"How ironic," droned Sherlock.

"Point is," Dean said, powering through, "people like your plans enough, but they're not takin' the bait."

"Can you blame them?" asked John. "People are bound to be a little skeptical when an ancient king they all thought was a fake turns out to be their only hope."

Dean tilted his head to the side in a gesture of solidarity. "He's got a point, man," he said to Arthur. "People don't think you're the real thing." He turned to the Doctor. "Thought you said this'd work?"

"It has," the Doctor insisted. "Phase one, anyway. We got the word out, got people to listen. They may not be convinced, but they're interested."

"Then what's phase two?" Sam asked.

"Arthur goes to them," the Doctor quipped. "People want to know the man they're putting their faith in is real. He doesn't have to go everywhere—just a few camps. He'll tell his own story, and word will spread further."

He spun on his heels to look at Arthur.

"Sound like a plan?"

Arthur appeared to be thinking hard, so Sherlock spoke up.

"I wouldn't advise it," he said. "You're still public enemy number one."

"And Morgana must know we're recruiting," said Cas. "If she didn't before, she will after what happened in Ipswich. The demons will expect you to be traveling."

"Well, he wouldn't be going alone, obviously," the Doctor defended. "We'll keep it small—Gwen and her team, naturally, and a few of us."

"_Us_?" Dean emphasized.

"That's what I said," the Doctor answered quickly. "You and Sam, probably. John. We'd have to trap Merlin in a black hole to stop him from coming. And me."

Everyone let out apprehensive noises at once at the Doctor's offer, and their arguments melded together until Dean's voice rose above all of them, saying, "Good idea. All three of Britain's most wanted out in the open. Why don't we just put a frikkin' neon sign on the vans?"

"You're not going anywhere, Doctor," Clara told him firmly, making the Doctor stammer out complaints.

"Merlin and Arthur shouldn't be going anywhere either," Sam said over the Doctor's whines, trying to refocus everyone's attention.

"Especially Arthur," Dean agreed. "Man, something happens to you and—"

"And the plan remains the same," Arthur told them all clearly. "The Doctor is right. How do we expect people to stand behind a man they've never seen?"

He looked behind him at Merlin for a second opinion, and Merlin nodded thoughtfully.

"It's worth the risk," Merlin said, and his eyes flickered to the others. "Arthur will be able to convince them."

"Then, it's decided," Arthur said. "Dean, Sam, Merlin, John, and I will accompany the merchants on their next route. Castiel, you and Yasmin will stay behind to continue training."

Dean let out a heavy sigh, but didn't argue.

"How long until the caravan can move out again?" Arthur asked.

"They need a little bit of a break to reload—and sleep," Sam told him, sounding as tired as he felt. "Two days, tops."

"You have one," Arthur said pointedly.

"One, sure, what the hell?" Dean said with a tight smile.

"If Morgana _does_ realize our plans, we'll have to move more quickly," Arthur excused forcefully.

"_Alright_! Guess we should all have a little powwow with Gwen about what camps are the best to take you to. We're gonna have to change the route to steer clear of the towns."

Next, Arthur turned to Cas and Sherlock. "How is the potion coming along?"

"The bombs were easy enough to make portable," Sherlock reported.

"And we found a way to case it into bullets," Cas chimed in, "but we won't know if they work until we use it on a demon."

"It's progress. Keep at it," said Arthur. "The rest of you, ensure the refugees from Ipswich have rooms tonight. How are we doing on space?"

"People have been sharing rooms," Clara said, "so we still have plenty, plus the houses outside the castle walls."

"What about food and water?"

"I'll talk to the kitchens," Merlin offered.

"Good," Arthur said with conclusiveness. "You may all go."

As everyone but Merlin and Arthur turned towards the exit, Arthur called one more time, "Dean, Sam—_one_ day."

"We got it!" Dean called back with a tired and unconcerned wave of his hand before pushing out the door.

* * *

Dean felt like he didn't get a wink of sleep. He, Sam, John, and Gwen decided to take the night and start planning the new route in the morning, and Dean had been excited to fall into bed and sleep for at least six hours. He managed a total of three, but not consecutively, and he gave up completely by the time the sun rose.

He tried not to wake Sam as he dressed, but Dean kept his eyes on his brother's sleeping form in the cot on the opposite side of their room. It was Sam that had kept Dean up all night, like he did most nights, for fear that he would suddenly stop breathing. Dean would listen to the rise and fall of Sam's chest while holding his own breath.

It had been months since Dean promised Zeke protection, but Merlin hadn't made any progress. Dean was starting to fear that Zeke was losing his trust and would eventually flee.

Those thoughts followed Dean out of the room and into the brisk weather. There were patches of blue skies currently but, when Dean got up to the wall-walk, he saw rainclouds on the horizon. He made his way to the watchtower to relieve the woman currently on duty so that he could put his insomnia to good use.

However, before he made it, he caught sight of a dust cloud being kicked up from the disused country road outside the castle walls. Five large, black SUVs were rolling in their direction, and Dean's eyes widened at the sight of them.

He sprinted the rest of the way to the watchtower, where the woman on watch had already seen the nearing vehicles.

"Go ring the bell!" Dean demanded. "Go! I want weapons lining these walls, you hear me?"

She flew out of the tower and down the spiral staircase. Less than a minute later, the loud clanging of the warning bell filled the area, and Dean could imagine Sam springing from bed, John readying his gun, Arthur preparing for a fight . . .

The bailey was filled with people almost immediately as the soldiers collected their weapons. Those with bows and guns spread out along the wall-walks and towers. Over the commotion, Dean could hear the voices of Sam, Cas, and John shouting out orders and getting the fighters into position.

Dean ran down the stairs to the bailey just as the SUVs drove down the bridge and parked in a line outside the walls. He stood by the doors of the main gate, gun in hand, as he watched the passenger side door of the first car open through the peephole. Out of the car emerged a tall, blonde woman in a smart suit and a billowing black rain jacket.

Sam appeared at Dean's side to take a look, too. "How the hell did they find us?"

"No idea," Dean said. "But she don't look like an Enforcers."

"She doesn't look like a rebel, either, Dean," Sam said, and Dean had to agree.

"What gave that away? The Men in Black cars?"

The blonde woman stopped a few feet away from the door, looking up without concern at the crossbows and guns pointed in her direction.

"I'm looking for the man they call Arthur Pendragon," she called out. Slowly, she reached into her pocket and produced at ID badge, revealing it to the door. "My name is Kate Stewart of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce."

"The _what_?" Sam hissed, and Dean shrugged in ignorance.

Making a decision, he called out, "What d'you want with Arthur?"

Kate's shoulders relaxed, seeming relieved to have gotten an answer. "To speak with him, of course."

"Yeah, well, you're speaking with us," Sam shouted to her.

"I would prefer it face-to-face," she said. "The weapons really aren't necessary. We come in peace."

Dean locked eyes with Sam in a silent conversation, deciding whether or not to meet her demands. Then his gaze flew upward to the nearest drum tower, where he caught Yasmin's eyes. She kept her rifle trained and nodded her support.

Dean opened one of the doors just enough to squeeze through and shut it again once he was on the other side.

"Weapons stay," he said, holding his Colt warningly at Kate. She held her palms up. However, behind her, more car doors opened, and guns were pointed in Dean's direction.

"Is Arthur here?" she asked.

"You ain't gettin' to Arthur," Dean said firmly. "Not before you tell me exactly who you are and how you found us."

Dean heard the castle doors open again behind him and, at first, he thought it was Sam lending some backup. That was until he heard Sam saying, "No, Clara—what are you—?"

"Kate!" Clara's shouted as she ran to Dean's side. In front of them, Kate smiled at her a little fondly.

"Clara, thank god," she said, lowering her hands. "Someone sensible I can talk to."

Dean kept his gun in his fists, but his features were contorting with doubt.

"You two know each other?"

"Of course!" Clara said. "She's with UNIT."

"What the hell is UNIT?"

"Help," Kate assured him. "If you'd let me speak, I would have told you that."

"Well, don't stand out in the cold," Clara said cheekily, waving Kate towards the doors. "Come in."

Dean still felt a little wary, but he trusted Clara's judgment so he looked up at the soldiers on the battlements and motioned for them to relax their weapons. They did so, and Sam opened the doors to let Dean, Clara, and Kate inside. Those in the cars also dropped their weapons and filed inside.

Sam shot Dean an inquiring look, and Dean nodded the okay to have the soldiers fall back. Sam disappeared into the throng to help John and Yasmin put all the weapons back in order.

"How did you find us?" Clara asked Kate as they walked.

"I managed to find a working phone this morning to get in contact with the—"

"_Kate_!" someone called in a tone a child might use on Christmas morning.

"—the Doctor. Yes, there he is."

The Doctor strode through the crowd with Sherlock at his side. When they got close, the Doctor took Kate by the shoulders and kissed both her cheeks. She didn't seem fazed by it in the slightest.

"Glad you made it."

"I am, too," Kate said.

"Right, everyone, this is Kate Lethbridge-Stewart," the Doctor said in ways of introduction. "Kate, you know Clara. This is Dean Winchester and Sherlock—"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," Kate interrupted. She leaned forward and shook Sherlock's hand firmly. "I've worked with your brother in the past."

"Allow me to extend my deepest condolences," Sherlock droned.

Kate looked at him as though he could see through him.

"Yes, you're certainly his brother."

She gave her attention back to the Doctor. "I heard some rumors on the journey here," she said. "People are talking about a man looking for people to fight for the cause. I take it that name is just an alias?"

"Nope," the Doctor answered nonchalantly. "That's his name."

"Arthur Pendragon," Kate said incredulously. "As in _King_ Arthur? From mythology?"

"You'll have to suspend disbelief for this one," the Doctor told her airily.

She gave a scoff. "Doctor, I trusted you when you suggested demons from Hell, but—"

"And I was right about that, wasn't I?" the Doctor reminded her.

She deflated in a thoughtful sigh, not able to argue. "Well, yes."

"And you put a research team on it?"

"Of course," she said, seeming to drop the subject of Arthur. "But we can only find ways of repelling them, not killing them. I've lost good soldiers to possession—more every week."

"Have you tried exorcism?" Dean suggested.

"Yes," said Kate. "But it isn't fast enough. We've been searching for something more efficient. If only there were a way to train people to resist the possession and reclaim control. Perhaps if we knew more about these creatures' abilities, we could find a way." She directed to the Doctor, "Has anyone ever overcome a possession?"

"Don't look at me," said the Doctor. He pointed to Dean. "He's the expert."

Kate turned to him quickly. "Have you seen it?" she asked, not bothering to ask how or why he was such an expert on demons. She simply took the Doctor's word for it.

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said. "But only if the person inside is _really_ good."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Clara smirk up at Sherlock and nudge his shoulder. He looked down at her with a less apathetic expression than usual, and Dean wanted to roll his eyes. It was more of a compliment to Sam than it had been to Sherlock, but Dean guessed he should give credit where credit was due.

"Anyway, I wouldn't count on it happenin'," he finished, and Kate accepted this with a sigh.

"But what about that other thing they do?" she asked next. "It appears to be some sort of telekinesis."

"You mean the Force thing?"

"Yes," Kate said, mulling this over and seeming to like the metaphor. "It's exactly like the Force. Have you ever witnessed anyone break free from it?"

"Can't say I have, not without someone else gankin' the demon first," Dean told her. "I mean, demons are physically super strong, but when they do that—," he waved his hand vaguely, as though miming telekinesis, "—they're like, ten times stronger. It's like, imagine being paralyzed, _and_ in a coma, _and_ having five tons of cinder blocks piled on you—and then add that on top of feeling like your insides have been set on fire when the demon _really_ starts having fun."

Kate's expression remained professional, but Clara pulled a disgusted face at the description.

"Look, I'm not saying it's _impossible_ to get outta the grip. I mean, moms lift SUVs when their babies are trapped under 'em, right?" Dean went on. "I guess it's a mind-over-matter thing, but your mind's too busy with the, ya know, inside bonfire to pay attention to anythin' else."

"Mind-over-matter?" Sherlock scoffed. "_I_ couldn't break free from it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright, don't get your panties in a twist, Nancy Drew," he said smugly, happily cancelling out his previous compliment. "I said I never seen it done, remember?"

"In any case," Kate said, "I think it's time I had a meeting with Arthur. There are quite a number of things I wish to discuss with him."

"Of course," the Doctor said. "Dean, go find Arthur and bring him to the drawing room." He placed a hand between Kate's shoulder blades and gestured her forward. "Follow us."

* * *

Merlin trailed behind Arthur and Dean as they walked through the open doors into the drawing room. Sitting at the table inside were the Doctor, Sherlock, and Kate, who Merlin eyed suspiciously, at the head. Clara stood close by, having left the chair opposite Kate for Arthur; however, Arthur did not take it.

At the sight of him, Kate stood up and said, "You must be Mr. Pendragon. My name is Kate Stewart of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce. I assume you've heard of us."

"I can't say I have," said Arthur. "Does it explain why you're here?"

"It should," she answered. "I'm a colleague of the Doctor's. Earlier this morning, I got in contact with him via the Tardis and he informed me of your location."

"Yeah, sorry about that," the Doctor told Arthur innocently and a little nonchalantly. "Probably should have woken you to say a fleet of military SUVs are coming."

Arthur raised a brow. "You're military?"

"Only technically," Kate explained. "UNIT deals with extraterrestrial encounters and unexplained phenomena. We have jurisdiction over alien intelligence and threats for the protection of the United Kingdom."

Arthur gestured for her to sit again, and they both took their seats across from each other. As Dean moved to stand next to Clara, Merlin took a step closer to Arthur's chair.

"How did you escape Morgana?" Arthur asked.

"UNIT has a number of classified underground bases throughout the country," Kate answered. "Don't get me wrong, we suffered a massive blow to our personnel, but the majority of us managed to escape."

"Have you've come to offer your soldiers?"

"I've come to offer our aid," Kate corrected. "UNIT has some of the most sophisticated technology in the world and highly trained men and women. However, we've never dealt with something of this nature, especially on such a grand scale. The Doctor tells me you have experts in this area of knowledge, and you're building an army against Morgana. UNIT can perfect this operation. I believe we can be an asset to one another."

"You mean we can be an asset to you, but not the other way around. _You_ need _us_," Merlin said before Arthur could speak. Arthur looked up at him with shocked eyes, and Kate blinked at him as though she just clocked his presence.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"You said _however_. Nothing good ever comes after that. You say you want to aid us, but you'd rather absorb our army into UNIT. But you have no idea what you're doing. You can have as many weapons as you want, but they don't work against the demons."

Kate kept her expression even. "No, they don't."

"But we have," Sherlock said coolly. "We have a formula that kills them, and we've developed a way to utilize it in firearms."

Kate looked somewhat taken aback by this, and her eyes flashed to the Doctor. "Why didn't you say?"

"Can't give away the secret recipe!" the Doctor defended.

Arthur leaned back in his chair and looked at Kate up and down. He said, "I believe we _can_ be beneficial to each other, after all. We will not work under the shadow of your institution, but I propose an alliance: your soldiers to fight in _my_ army, bringing with them your so-called sophisticated weaponry. We'll provide the expertise and planning."

Kate seemed to consider this for a long moment, but then she stood up again and said, "You have a deal."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen.**

Dean walked along the battlements, surveying the land beneath the castle walls. Everything was calm and quiet as the sun turned pink on the horizon, and the sky blended into indigo at the zenith. A little in front of him on the wall-walk, Dean spotted the Doctor staring off into the distance. He had his arms crossed over his chest until Dean stepped closer, silently grabbing his attention.

"What are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be preparing for tomorrow?" the Doctor asked.

"We got mostly everything done. And it's my shift on the watch," Dean answered, turning forward to face whatever the Doctor had been so fixated on. He didn't see anything too interesting except the UNIT personnel shuffling around near the gatehouses, which they made their quarters.

"Another voluntary shift, I take it?"

Dean shrugged. "Eh, I don't mind. Never thought I'd ever live in a castle far, far away."

"You are a knight," the Doctor reminded him. "I thought that would be in the job description."

Dean snorted, guessing he was right. "What about you? What are you doin' up here?"

The Doctor nodded forward, and Dean squinted his eyes to adjust them to the fading light of dusk. In the distance, he saw maybe half a dozen domes.

"What are those, telescopes?"

The Doctor let out a breath. "Yep. All of them out of order—well, at least all of them are now. No electricity."

"Yeah, well, why do you wanna look at little blips of light, anyway?" Dean asked, trying to be comforting. "Not when you've seen 'em up close."

"A different perspective, I suppose. You get your castle, and I get far, far away."

He cast his eyes upwards now, looking fondly at the first of the scattered lights breaking through the sky.

Coming back down to Earth, he continued with a wrinkled nose, "I don't even get to leave these walls. I can't see why. Merlin and Arthur are in more danger than I am and they get to leave." He sounded like a whiny child instead of the ageless voyager he was.

"Yeah, but we don't have much of a choice there," Dean said, "and it was your idea, remember?"

"I'm only saying, I can be of more use tagging along," the Doctor insisted with a wave of his hand. It made Dean roll his eyes.

"Yeah, we get it. You're bored. And, trust me, you've been drivin' everyone up the wall for the past few weeks, but you ain't comin'. You're family, Doc, and we're not gonna risk throwin' you to the wolves unless we have to."

For a moment, the Doctor looked at him with an expression Dean thought was solely reserved for the stars.

"You don't want to be my family," the Doctor told him after the pause. "They only get hurt."

"Hey, look at that—you're in the right club," Dean reposed, and the Doctor made a noise that signaled he couldn't argue before looking back out at the telescopes.

"But, ya know, Doc, when it all comes down to it, we can't really keep you here," Dean told him, regaining his attention. "You more than anyone can leave any time—get the hell outta dodge. I guess I just don't get why you're doin' this. You could go. Get into the Tardis and just get out."

The Doctor thought on this for a moment. "I suppose I could. The thought's occurred to me," he admitted.

"So why don't you? Why d'you even care so much?"

The Doctor blinked, looking like he didn't understand the question. "Because of humanity—people like you and your brother," he said slowly.

"_Me_?" scoffed Dean. "C'mon. I don't buy that. We don't matter. I'm not anythin' important."

"What?" the Doctor asked, sounding almost offended.

"I'm just a guy. You've been to all types of places all over the universe. I'm guessin' you've seen better than this. You've probably seen the end of the Earth. Hell, you've probably seen the end of the _universe_," Dean justified. "Compared to that, people like me and Sam must be small to you."

The Doctor kept his eyes fixed on Dean's, thinking hard. Then he straightened up and said, "Yes. Yes, you are _so_ small. But can't you see? That's what makes you so . . . _big_?"

Dean jerked his head back. He didn't understand, so the Doctor explained.

"I've stood on planets where your sun is nothing but a distant star in the night sky; and everything that surrounds that sun—Earth, your home—all that life and sound and invention and poetry and friendship and foes—is reduced to a blip of light in a corner of the universe. Your life lasts a fraction of a second suspended on a piece of dust and yet, somehow, you are, _impossibly_, alive. Through all the desolation and dead space and everything that will _never_ be, whether by quirk or design, you are _here_. You are the _only_ thing that's important, and I will fight until the end to protect this world of yours . . . as will you."

Dean still wasn't sure he understood, but the Doctor spoke with such conviction that Dean guessed he was right: He knew he'd probably never be remembered once he was gone and, in the grand scheme of things, his life wasn't much; but when he looked back at what he chose to do with it, he supposed he didn't do so badly.

"Well, I guess it's in good hands, then," Dean said, and the Doctor's serious, ancient expression was replaced by a soft smile.

"You're a good man, Dean Winchester," he said.

Dean's smile faltered. That was another thing he wasn't so sure of. The reason for that doubt just walked out of the entrance of a nearby drum tower.

"Dean," Sam called, waving them over. "Doc—hey. We need you guys for a meeting."

The Doctor and Dean shared a questioning look before Dean asked, "Why? What does Arthur want?"

"Not Arthur," Sam said as he turned back towards the tower. "Cas."

* * *

Everyone, including Kate, was already in the drawing room by the time Dean, Sam, and the Doctor arrived. Castiel was an outline against the glow of the grand fireplace. He was standing at the head of the table staring down at the cluttered papers and looking introspective and concerned about something. Merlin narrowed his eyes at him, trying to read his thoughts.

"Good, now that we're all present," Arthur said, gesturing towards Cas. "What is it you have to say, Castiel?"

Castiel looked up, his large blue eyes flashing to Dean in a way that visibly made Dean's stomach drop. Merlin didn't know what Castiel was going to say, but he had a feeling Dean wasn't going to like it.

Clearing his throat, Cas began, "The weapons Sherlock and I have produced, I know we're all confident about them. And we have a stronger army now because of UNIT's soldiers, but I think I know a way we can gain a greater advantage. We need more soldiers. Powerful ones, and . . ."

He stood up straighter now.

"Yesterday, I overheard a few hunters speaking," Cas started, his tone growing firmer. "One of them ran into a group of angels not far from here—"

Merlin didn't like where this was going; apparently, neither did Dean.

"Cas—," he said.

"—and I believe we could use them," Cas continued as though Dean had not said anything, but he spoke quicker, like he was trying to get out what he needed to say before he was interrupted.

Merlin caught Dean's eyes across the room, both of them in silent panic, before his gaze flickered pointedly to Sam. As if Dean needed reminding.

"If I could convince them to fight along side us against Morgana's troops—"

"Are you kidding me?" Dean barked, effectively shutting Castiel up.

Cas let out a breath and bristled like he knew the outburst was inevitable.

"You want a list as to why that's a bad idea? No. No way!"

"Why no way?" asked Arthur thoughtfully.

Dean licked his lips in consideration, looking at Arthur for a moment before his eyes fell on Sam—but only for a flash. Then he looked back to Castiel.

"Well, for one thing, you're in _hiding_ from the angels, Cas," Dean said, bringing up a very good point. "Remember? Maybe—maybe the fact that they wanna _gut_ you."

Cas looked off and gave another sigh.

"I can convince them," he said, always the optimist. "I can make them see. If we can unite against a common threat—"

"They don't care about a common threat, Cas! This ain't their world," Dean shouted, taking a few steps forward and making pointing gestures at Cas's head. "All they care about is putting your head on a stick!"

"Not _all_ of them!" Cas said, shouting now, too. "I still have allies; you know that."

"That's every one in a million. It's too risky! It's a _bad_ idea," he said again.

"It's not your decision, Dean!"

"Wait, Dean, hang on," Sam cut in, stepping forward and holding a palm up to his brother to calm him down. Taking in a breath, he looked at Cas pensively. After a pause, he dropped his shoulders and said, "It's a bad idea, Cas."

"_A_ _bad friggin idea_!" Dean shouted from behind Sam.

Arthur held his hand up. "That's enough, Dean."

He focused his attention on Castiel. "Do you believe they will help us?"

Cas took a pause for thought. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Since the fall, they've lost much of their abilities, but they aren't powerless. They'll still want to fight against the demons. It's in their nature."

"It's an interesting tactic," Sherlock spoke up. "Morgana probably thought this was a novel time to strike with the host of Heaven scattered. She certainly wouldn't see it coming if we managed to have a few on our side. I will accompany Castiel in finding them if he needs backup."

John threw his head back, looking shocked, but said nothing.

"Oh, yeah, I'd really like to see you in a knife fight, Miss Marple," Dean snipped.

"_Dean_," Arthur said again. "Your concerns are noted."

Dean looked at Merlin again, his eyes beseeching.

"Arthur, we shouldn't have the majority of us away from the castle at once," Merlin tried. "Especially if it puts a halt on training. That's the reason Castiel isn't joining us tomorrow, isn't it?"

"I suppose you're right," Arthur answered, considering. It made Merlin feel hopeful.

But Kate ripped that hope away.

"I could lend a few soldiers to teach your troops," she offered.

"That's not a bad idea," said Arthur.

He regarded Castiel again. "You seem determined."

"I am."

"Then I cannot stop you. Sherlock may accompany you if he wishes, but I can't risk more men if this goes the way Dean fears."

"I understand," Castiel said.

"Leave at once."

However, before anyone could move, a commotion sounded from down the corridor.

"Let go of me! You don't understand—let go!"

Everyone's eyes were glued to the door as the muffled shouts grew louder and more distinct. Merlin could have sworn the voice belonged to Yasmin.

Seconds later, the door slammed opened and one of the men from the watch filled the threshold. Behind him, two other large men had Yasmin clutched tightly between them. She was struggling in their grip, twisting and kicking out, but they did not release her.

"What's the meaning of this?" Arthur demanded angrily. "Let her go."

They did not listen to him.

"Arthur," the first man said, coming into the room with the others close behind. "We believe she's working for Morgana."

They all exchanged dumbfounded looks before directing their attention back to Yasmin. Merlin didn't want to believe it. It couldn't have been true. Yasmin fought alongside them, she went on supply runs, she helped them care for the people.

But then he remembered the times he would catch her watching Arthur intently. His mind flashed back to the instances he would look in her direction to find she was already staring back; and then she would quickly look away to correct herself. Merlin thought he was just overreacting whenever he felt his stomach lurch or his magic bubble every time he caught her glances. He ignored the uneasiness they caused him.

"That's not true!" Yasmin yelled, redoubling her efforts to escape.

Arthur ignored her.

"Do you have any evidence of this?" he asked the watchman.

"Yes," he said, reaching into his jacket and producing a rolled up map. He unfolded it and held it up to show them. It depicted the entire United Kingdom, but drawn over it were various sigils marked in red in assorted locations.

"Those are used for tracking," Sam said, recognizing the markings. He regarded Yasmin with distrust.

"It's not what you think!" Yasmin tried to defend herself.

"Then what were all those potions for?" the watchman yelled back at her. He turned back to Arthur. "We found her working at some kind of alter—bones and human blood."

"It wasn't _human_!"

"She's a demon; she's one of them," the man insisted forcefully.

Arthur held up his hand to silence him. He then turned his glare on Yasmin. He was trying to contain his emotions, but Merlin saw the judgment already in his eyes.

"What are you?" he asked through his teeth. "Are you working for Morgana?"

"_No_!" she cried. "You _have_ to believe me! I'm not a demon. How _could_ I be? You checked me when we first met, don't you remember? And you've warded the grounds. How could I even be standing inside these walls if I were a demon?"

Arthur looked down at the floor thoughtfully, doubtfully.

"Doesn't mean she still can't be workin' for Morgana," Dean stepped forward to say. "Blood and bones and potions on an alter? She's a witch."

Arthur's eyes snapped back to her, and Merlin felt his chest constrict.

"Are you a witch?" Arthur asked her, sounding angrier than before. She stayed silent, but looked him dead in the eyes.

"_Answer_!" he shouted, and she jumped slightly.

Composing herself, she whispered, "Yes."

Arthur took in a breath and stepped back, betrayal on his features.

"You were summoning demons here," he guessed. "You knew the castle would be vulnerable with us gone tomorrow."

"No!" she shouted, sounding defensive again. "No, Arthur—I _swear_!"

"She could be telling the truth," the Doctor said politically. "She's been with us all this time. She could have brought the demons to us before. Why now?"

"Or she could have been reporting back to the demons, all the while gaining our trust," Sherlock suggested. "Morgana must be scared now that we're building up an army."

Merlin kept his eyes on Yasmin, watching her breathing heavily, at a loss for words.

"Is this true?" Arthur asked her, already sounding convinced of it.

"No," she said, softer now. Her head was hung, making her dark hair fall around her. "No, please, you have to listen to me. I wouldn't betray _you_—never you." She craned her neck up, looking at Merlin with pleading, tearful eyes.

"Help me, Emrys."

Merlin stood up straighter, shocked at what he'd just heard. He hardly noticed everyone's head snap in his direction; his eyes were exclusively on hers.

"How do you know that name?" he asked when he found the words.

"I wasn't summoning demons," she said in ways of an answer. "I was trying to find my order. We got separated during the attack on Winchester, but I know they're still alive. I've been trying to get into contact with them for months."

"What order?" Sherlock asked.

"Why have you been trying to find them?" Arthur said, overriding Sherlock's question.

"So that they could join us, not attack," she said, standing a little taller now and speaking with more confidence. "So they could fight alongside the Once and Future King."

Now Arthur looked shocked and confused, his expression blank and his lips parted as he stared at her.

She looked at Merlin again. "You aren't the only one who has been waiting for his return, Emrys." She shook the two men off of her easily now and took a step forward, and she pulled up her shirtsleeve to reveal her inner wrist. On her skin was tattooed a Celtic triple-spiral. Merlin gaped at it, instantly recognizing it.

"You're a _druid_?"

She smiled breathlessly, seeming relieved. "I know I don't look it."

"A druid?" Kate asked, seeming fascinated by the proceedings. "You mean a Neo-Druid?"

Yasmin scoffed. "Please! Those tree-huggers in fancy dress? Not at all. My ancestors on my mother's side have been druids in this land since before the days of Camelot. Everyone in the Western world has grown up on the stories of King Arthur, but we knew they were more than just legends. For thousands of years, we've been planning for his resurrection, but we knew it would only come in a time of suffering. We knew, when that time came, we'd have to fight with him—so we've been preparing. I was raised into these beliefs, to follow the teachings of Emrys."

"My what?" Merlin asked quickly, pulling a face.

"Your _teachings_," she said again.

He shrugged. "I haven't got any."

"Yes, you have," she insisted. "The ancient druids told their children and their children's children the stories of their encounters with you, along with what they learned from the Catha, the Seers, and the Great Dragon. Later, these stories were written down, so that the records could be passed down to future generations. They accompanied the stories of Arthur's reign from Geoffrey of Monmouth. All the records were kept with the druids until Thomas Malory decided to make a profit off of them."

"Thomas Malory was a druid?" Kate asked with interest.

"Never mind that. _How_ can you be a druid? No one practices the magic of the Old Religion anymore," Merlin said, shaking his head. "Just me."

She nodded. "When you disappeared from Camelot, the Old Religion declined even more rapidly than it had before. Soon, my ancestors turned to the Wicca."

"So, let me get this straight," Dean spoke up, "you're a witch _and_ a hunter?"

"The two aren't mutually exclusive. Most modern druids are hunters. In fact, hunting began with us," she told him. "It was our way of keeping up with Emrys' work—for the safety of this land. It wasn't until later that the laypeople caught on and began hunting. But they didn't have our teachings. Druidic hunters don't see things in black and white like you do. We don't go after everything with fangs or talons just for the hell of it. We only kill when we must, to defend the people of Albion. But lay hunters have incorporated much of our methods in their own ways."

"I seriously doubt that," Dean said with conviction.

Yasmin laughed. "Look around you! This place is covered in sigils and protective spells that you put down yourself. And don't tell me you've never had to use a potion or incantation."

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. Sam shrugged. Dean bristled.

"Hunters and druids are kin; your roots lie with us. Only, you take an offensive style to hunting while we remain solely defensive. The druids are still peaceful people."

"And yet you're willing to go into war," Sherlock pointed out.

"Yes," she said simply, "if it is the only way. With Morgana overthrown, Albion can live in peace and freedom again; and King Arthur and Emrys can complete their work."

She turned back to Arthur and Merlin.

"It is your destiny," she reminded them. "And it was my fate to find you, just as it's the duty of all the druids alive today to fight at your side."

Arthur stayed silent, but he seemed to consider this. Merlin watched him avidly, waiting for him to speak, but dreading what he might say.

"Your order," the Doctor spoke up instead, "have you found them?"

"I'm close," she assured him. She shot a sidelong glare at the watchman. "I would have been closer if I hadn't been interrupted—but, yes. They're scattered, but they're out there. And it isn't just my order. There are many others, all waiting for Arthur's call."

"_How_ many?"

"Hundreds—maybe more," she answered.

"Hundreds more willing volunteers," Sherlock said. "We could use them."

"How long until you can pinpoint your people's location?" the Doctor asked.

"A few hours, at most," she estimated. "Not long."

"What about some more non-magic, regular hunters?" Dean inquired.

She nodded at him. "There are few who work with us, but I have my contacts, and they have their own networks. It won't be hard to find more hunters wanting to battle demons. We'd have a queue from our door all the way to Kent."

The Doctor looked at Arthur, who still had his eyes on Yasmin. His face was unreadable.

"The druids could help us," the Doctor said, voicing what Merlin was thinking—what he praying, but wouldn't dare say. "Morgana's got loads of magic on her side; we could do with a bit more. It certainly wouldn't _hurt_."

The Doctor let this hang in the air, and everyone's eyes fell on Arthur, waiting. Merlin was suddenly hyperaware of his own heartbeat, thumping hard and rapidly against his chest. It felt like ages had gone by, when really it was only mere seconds.

And then Arthur spoke.

"I agree."

Merlin felt like the wind was knocked out of him. He tried to drink in bouts of air, but found it hard to do so. And yet, he felt light. His chest was no longer tight and the pit in his stomach was no longer heavy. He felt as though he was letting out a breath he'd been holding since he first spoke with the Great Dragon in the dungeons of Camelot all those many years ago.

He stayed quiet, only for a complete lack of words. His mind was spinning, but he couldn't latch on to a single thought. It took him a few moments to realize Arthur was speaking again.

" . . . once you find your order's location, set out immediately and collect them, along with any other druid or hunter willing to help," he was telling Yasmin. "Take as many men as you need to accompany you."

"I'll go with her," Kate volunteered. "We can take one of the SUVs. I'd like to learn more about these druids."

Yasmin nodded, a large smile plastered on her face.

"I won't let you down," she promised Arthur. She grabbed her map out the stunned watchman's grip and ran from the room. Kate hustled after her.

"Dean, Sam," Arthur then said, turning to them. "Since you're apparently versed in her ways, go help her with her spells. The faster we find her people, the better."

"You got it," Sam said, and Merlin was only somewhat aware that he'd cast him a triumphant grin before following Dean out of the room.

"The rest of you, back to work," Arthur said. Immediately, the watchmen filed out, and Sherlock, Clara, John, and Castiel trailed behind them. Arthur lingered for a moment, his back to Merlin so that Merlin could not see his face. Then, without another word or without so much as looking back, he left the room.

But Merlin was fine with that. In all honesty, he didn't know what he'd do if Arthur did turn to him. His mind was still surprisingly blank.

He turned around to look into the fireplace, placing his hand on the stone of the hearth for support. He focused on breathing, because that was the only thing he could do.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and a voice behind him said softly, "Merlin?"

Merlin looked at the hand and then met the Doctor's eyes. The Doctor's expression was stoic and his gaze was searching.

Merlin suddenly realized his own eyes were stinging for a reason quite separate from the heat of the flames.

The Doctor's face softened, and Merlin laughed through his tears. He felt something in his chest burst and he could no longer contain the flooding waves of joy throughout him. His cheeks cracked from how large he was smiling but he could not control it. He clapped his fingers over his mouth, trying to stifle his mirth.

However, the Doctor let out a loud "Ha-ha!" and spun Merlin around before jerking him into a celebratory hug. Merlin enjoyed the contact, and he let his laughter free.

* * *

"_You're_ going to look for angels? _You_?"

Sherlock quirked a brow and took his eyes off his packed bag, turning to the man standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

"Problem?"

"Several," John exclaimed, his eyes wide and forehead wrinkled in something close to shock. "For starters—_angels_? No. I mean, _yes_, I know what happened—all those lights in the sky a few months back. And apparently demons are now real, but _angels_? You wouldn't believe that . . . You don't seriously believe that?"

Sherlock swung his pack over his shoulders in lieu of response, and John gave a scoff.

"Hang on, Sherlock!" he tried, and he folded his arms tightly across his chest and readjusted his stance as though studying Sherlock. "You—you're not interested in another explanation?"

"Naturally," Sherlock admitted as he stepped towards the doorway, which John was still blocking with his inquisitive glare. When he did not respond, Sherlock continued, "But I have none."

John furrowed his brows, now truly shocked. It was rare that Sherlock admitted ignorance, and John didn't seem to accept it. He looked off, working it out.

"Then you're just tagging along to collect evidence, are you?" he asked, softer now. "Or do you want to help a friend?"

His eyes looked up and met Sherlock's again. The latter's expression remained plain, but John must have seen something in it, because his shoulders slackened and his lips parted.

"That's it, isn't it? Castiel," John said. "He's your friend, isn't he? You don't see him as just an ally."

Sherlock let out a sigh, growing tired of the conversation, and not having an answer. Castiel, a friend? An enigma, certainly, and still something Sherlock did not fully understand, but accepted. It helped that Castiel now had a mortal coil, but there were still mysteries about the man—or fallen angel—that nagged at Sherlock constantly. He'd become quite good at pushing them to the backburner, but they arose again in Castiel's presence. Perhaps finding more of his kind would help Sherlock better piece together the puzzle, but then again . . .

Was that the true reason he felt compelled to accompany Castiel?

"I see him as someone who doesn't feel obliged to titles," Sherlock said, not letting his agitation show as he took John by the shoulders and moved him away from the door. John stammered the entire time, no doubt trying to come up with a response.

Sherlock wouldn't give him enough time. With the path now clear, he started through the threshold. "Do pay mind to the Doctor. You know he likes to wander," he said from over his shoulder. Just as he walked out the door, he heard his name called, and something in John's tone made him peek back into the room.

"Just—," John hissed, shaking his head into a pause in which he seemed to collect his thoughts. "_Whatever_ you find out there," he continued, gesturing his finger vaguely to world beyond, "be careful, Sherlock."

For a moment, Sherlock expression softened, and his grip on the doorframe weakened. He eyed John carefully, silently.

Finally, he stood up straight once more and quipped, "I've already assessed the risk of this voyage, John. I assure you, it's quite minimal."

Sherlock was swiftly walking down the hall again. He didn't have to stay behind to know John had let out an almighty, frustrated sigh.

"No, I'll be careful, too!" John yelled after him. "Just creatures from the pits of Hell looking for us. No risk _at all_!"

As Sherlock turned the corner, he nearly bumped into Mary, who eyed his backpack with a raised brow.

"Going somewhere?" she wondered.

"To find angels," Sherlock answered.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Okay, then."

They carried on in their opposing directions.

* * *

Merlin was making his way down the corridor to his room when he heard his name being whispered behind him. He turned around to find Dean peering his head out of room he and Sam shared, as if Dean had been waiting for Merlin to pass.

"Get in here, kid," he said, looking around to make sure they were alone. "We gotta talk."

Merlin squared himself, already knowing what this was about, and slid through the door. Dean closed it behind him.

"Have you found _anything _at all?" he asked slowly and sternly, looking Merlin straight in the eyes and gesturing out a hand like he wanted Merlin to level with him.

"I've been looking for ages, Dean," Merlin told him apologetically, not bothering to sugarcoat it. "I'm sorry, but there is nothing I know of that can shield an angel."

"That's not good enough," Dean said, his tone growing more impatient. "There's gotta be something—"

The door opened again, interrupting them, and Sam filled out the threshold.

"Dean," he said curtly, and Dean spun around to look at him with a pushed smile.

"What's up, Sam?"

But there was something different about Sam. Merlin could feel it in his gut and the back of his mind, and it made his magic tingle just under the surface of his skin.

"Not Sam," he told Dean. His eyes were glowering at Sam's form, but he saw Dean's posture tighten.

"Oh," he said. "Speak of the Devil."

"We have to talk," Zeke said. It was Sam's voice, but it wasn't. The speech pattern had changed, and it was almost as though it were an octave deeper. He looked pointedly at Merlin. "Alone."

The word made Merlin's defenses go up, and he clamped his jaw together in immediate dislike of the angel. "Anything you tell him, you can tell me, _Zeke_."

Zeke's unblinking gaze flashed momentarily to Dean, but then he squared his shoulders, which were already impossibly upright, and said, "Very well. We can't bring more angels to this camp. I'm already taking a risk with Castiel here. If they come, I will have no choice but to leave."

Dean stayed silent for a beat, thinking, and Merlin looked between him and Zeke in confusion. Was Dean really letting this angel run the show?

"Why?" Merlin asked, not faltering when Zeke's glare turned back on him. "What are you so afraid of? You don't want a fight? You don't want to defend Castiel against the angels if they show up? But he's seeking out angels that will _help_ him. Why would there be a fight?"

Zeke bristled. "I don't have to explain myself to the likes of you."

"I think you do," Merlin challenged. "Dean might be fine with you keeping him in the dark, but I'd like some answers before I help you."

"Evidentially, you _haven't_ been helping," Zeke told him before looking back to Dean. "He's had _months_ to find a solution. This was not our deal, Dean."

"I know," Dean admittedly politically. "Merlin, cut it out. He's here to help."

"Not the angels," Zeke reminded them resolutely.

"That's too bad," Merlin told him directly. "We need more soldiers—_good_ soldiers. If Castiel can get even _one_ angel to join us, we could win this war."

"Then, you'll do it without me," Zeke threatened.

"Whoa, no! Hang on a second!" Dean yelled, putting his arms between them like a wall. "Rulers away—both of you!"

Merlin and Zeke shared another glare before falling back, and Dean let out an audible breath.

"Alright, we can figure out a way around this," he said, thinking hard. Soon, his eyes lit up and he asked Merlin, "What about that potion you gave me and Clara? Could you make somethin' like that work on Zeke without it effecting Sam?"

Merlin bit his lip in consideration. "Against angels? Regular people and demons are easy. But angels . . ."

"Yeah, well, angels at half-mass," Dean offered, and Merlin had to agree he had a point. He gave Zeke another wary once over.

"Maybe," he allowed. "We could certainly try. But I'd need Zeke's cooperation. Once Sam takes the potion, Zeke has to stay dormant or else the spell will break." He glared at Zeke again. "If you think you can allow Sam his privacy for that long."

"Okay, silver lining," Dean said hopefully before Zeke could respond, and he glanced at Zeke to gauge his reaction. However, Zeke's features were stony. "What d'you say? If he can do it, will you stay?"

"There's no promise it will work," Zeke reasoned, and Merlin disliked him even more.

"Not forever, but I can manage a temporary spell, I'm sure."

"He _can_," Dean promised Zeke, but Merlin was certain he wasn't as optimistic as he was attempting to look.

"Even so," Zeke said, narrowing his eyes at Merlin. "You don't trust me."

"No, I don't," Merlin answered at once, unable to keep the viciousness out of his voice, but he soon softened. "But Sam is my friend and, if you're keeping him alive . . ." He swallowed passed the lump in his throat, knowing it went against his better judgment as he said, "I will protect you."

There was a long, pregnant pause in which Dean held his breath and Zeke regarded Merlin with a stern glare, deciding whether or not to trust him; and Merlin returned the stare, trying to look as honest as he could. He had to put his feelings towards the situation aside—for Sam's safety and for Arthur's victory. He had no choice.

"Work quickly. I want the potion by morning," Zeke told him in way of agreement and swiftly exited the room.

Dean let out his breath and deflated his shoulders, watching the space where Sam once stood. Merlin watched it, too.

"Thanks, kid," Dean told him genuinely after a moment, but Merlin paid it no mind.

"Dean, I know you have good intentions, but be wary of him," Merlin warned, still looking forward. "And don't call me kid."

Before Dean could respond, Merlin left the room.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen.**

They stood in the bailey and Mary laughed when John got his arm stuck in the loop of his backpack as he struggled into it. She helped him place the strap over his shoulder before taking a step back and pulling her jacket tighter around her.

"You'd be lost without me, you know?" she observed.

"You're telling me," he mumbled before looking at her sternly. "I'm sorry I've got to leave so soon, but Dean and Sam say some of people in the camps we're off to are in need of medical care. Plus, the more protection Arthur has, the better."

She shook her head and smiled softly. "I get it. You're one of the important ones."

John hesitated for a moment, rethinking the journey. "Still, maybe I should stay. You might need me."

Mary threw her head back with an exacerbated laugh. "For heaven's sake, John! I'm pregnant, not handicapped. I'll be just fine. Now, _you_ get your bum in that car. Just come back in one piece."

"Promise," he said hopefully. He then searched around him, wondering if he was missing anything. He patted down in his pockets, making sure everything was in order. "Well, I'm off, then. But where is . . ."

He narrowed his eyes to peer around the small crowd of people until he found who he was looking for and motioned him over.

"Mary, this is the Doctor," John introduced when the Doctor reached them. "If you need anything, look for him."

Mary's forehead wrinkled as she regarded him. "Doctor who?"

The Doctor pressed his lips together in a smug smile and shrugged out his palms. "Just the Doctor, actually."

"That's your Christian name, is it?" she asked, looking amused.

"Could be. Now, don't you worry about a think, John. Mary and I will have a grand old time, won't we, Mary?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but he placed his arm delicately over his shoulder and started leading her away.

"Come along. You can meet Clara."

"Bye, John!" Mary called from over her shoulder. As she and the Doctor continued walking, John heard her ask, "So, you're a doctor of _what _exactly?"

"Oh, just a few things here and there. I'm more like a janitor, really . . ."

Their voices faded into the din as they receded, and John took in a steadying breath before heading for the gate.

* * *

Dean was in the buttery filling his and Sam's water bottles when the door behind his back opened, letting in the morning sunlight and causing a silhouette to stretch out on the floor. Dean looked over to face the newcomer.

"You got it?" he asked Merlin.

Merlin nodded as he walked further into the room to meet Dean. He produced two vials containing clear liquid and held them in his upturned palm.

"I did what I could to nullify the taste," he said. "Give him half a vial at a time every twelve hours. It should work."

Dean let out a thankful breath as he stared down at the potion.

"How do you plan on giving it to him?" Merlin asked.

Dean had thought long and hard about that all night.

"I'm gonna slip him the Mickey. Put it in his drink," he said, reaching out to take the potions. At his words, Merlin retracted his hand and curled his fingers protectively around the vials.

Dean's eyes shot to his expression, which looked guilty and doubtful.

"Wrong choice of words," Dean said, trying to keep the situation light because it was too heavy for him to respond to in any other way. "I get that now."

"Yeah."

Dean's shoulders deflated as he sighed, and he searched Merlin's face.

"Look, ki—_man_," he began sincerely. "I know you're still having mixed feelings about all this."

Merlin closed his eyes and nodded. "I don't like lying to him like this."

"Oh, I _live_ for it," Dean shot back sarcastically, but his tone dropped again when Merlin eyed his scathingly. "I just . . . Thanks for not givin' up on him."

"I would never do that," Merlin said whole-heartedly. He looked thoughtful. "But, Dean, you _are_ sure this is what Sam would want?"

Dean knitted his brow, not sure what Merlin meant by that.

"To live? Of course it is! Why wouldn't it be?" Dean asked, sounding only a touch defensive. "I mean, if he _wanted_ to die, he would've finished the trials, right?"

There was a pause, but then Merlin nodded in agreement. He relinquished the vials into the Dean's hand. Dean pocketed one before taking the cap off the other and emptying half of it into one of the water bottles. He was aware that Merlin was eyeing the process looking less than pleased, but Dean masked the fact that a pit was forming in his stomach.

"We better hurry up," Merlin said as Dean screwed the cap back on the bottle. "We're leaving shortly."

"Yeah, I'll catch up," Dean said, and Merlin left him alone.

Dean stared down at the water bottle as though he could distinguish the potion from the drink. Even if it hadn't blended, it looked as though it did. He tensed his jaw at it, half a mind to empty it onto the floor, but he steeled himself and followed Merlin out of the room instead.

* * *

Sherlock stepped over a fallen branch, its dead twigs catching on to his trousers before snapping and letting him pass. With each step, dead leaves crinkled under his shoes, and crows let out calls above his head before shaking more golden leaves from the trees as they took flight.

The drive to Somerset hadn't taken exceedingly long, especially since they'd taken the Doctor's psychic paper to get through any checkpoints. But then they parked the car along a back road to trek through the forest, following the directions of a drunkard Castiel had decided to put his faith in. Sherlock was beginning to believe the hunter hadn't seen the angels at all. They'd been walking for hours.

"Their camp should be close," Castiel said from a few paces ahead, scanning the trees and brown scenery.

"Of course," Sherlock said facetiously. "They traded Heaven for the cleanliness of lime disease and the foul scent of—," he sniffed the air, trying to place the smell. "What is that?"

"Nature," Castiel told him shortly.

"It's dreadful."

"You're right about one thing," Cas said, overlooking the comment. "Heaven is much cleaner."

Sherlock studied the line of Castiel's back as they continued on. His muscles had gone tenser since the topic had arisen, which Sherlock thought was hardly possible. Cas had been stressed since they left the castle.

"Why is it that these angels still have their abilities and you don't?" Sherlock asked, and Cas sighed audibly.

"I told you, they lost much of their power."

"And you've lost it all," said Sherlock. "The fall was different for you. Does that mean you were at the center of what happened?"

Castiel's shoulders tightened more.

"I was the _cause_ of what happened."

Sherlock stopped walking and Cas must have sensed it because he stopped, too.

"In what way?"

Castiel turned to face him, but his eyes looked off to the side in thought. "I trusted the wrong person," he said, "and it cost me my grace. It cost everyone _everything_."

Sherlock scanned him up and down, taking in the remorse written on Cas' face.

"And your new tactic has been to lay down and give in?" he asked, knocking Cas out of it. "To get a job in a shop and hide away? I thought you were a soldier."

"Maybe it's best if I'm not anymore!" Cas said in a sudden near-shout, taking a few heated steps closer. Close by, something rustled. Perhaps another winged creature.

"Every time I try to help, I fail," Castiel went on. "This hasn't been the first time. I have slaughtered my own. I have been prideful and foolish—"

"And unable to sit idly by while worse things than your _pride_ take place?"

Castiel dropped his shoulders in a sigh.

"You don't understand," he said in a lower tone than before. "I've been a poor excuse for an angel since the beginning. I don't know why, but I was made . . . different."

He said it like it was a bad thing.

No, he was right: Sherlock didn't understand.

"I would have said, made better," Sherlock said, making Cas' sad eyes flicker back to him. There was a hint of something else in those eyes now. Gratitude?

Whatever it was, it made Sherlock near him.

"There is more that befuddles me about human nature than I can to dwell on," he continued, and Castiel listened avidly. "Like why people insist on naming inanimate objects, or the obsession with discussing the weather."

"Or daytime television," Cas offered, and Sherlock gestured in agreement.

"Precisely," he said. "Though, every now and again amongst the mundanity, there are sparks of independent thought. You appear to have more than your fair share."

Cas shook his head. "What are you saying?"

"You aren't boring," Sherlock told him outright. "To a cookie-cutter, I assume that's something to aspire to be." A smirk twitched the corner of his lips. "Humanity suits you, Castiel."

Castiel smiled softly as he mulled over the thought.

"Thank you," he said after a beat. "It . . ." he continued, somewhat awkwardly, "suits you, too."

Sherlock's brow creased in amused incredulity at the comment, but before he could respond, something rustled close behind him. He felt a cold blade against his throat as someone in back of him held him still. In front of him, a man stood threateningly at Castiel's back, pressing his angel blade against Cas' neck. A third man stood between them, but he was looking at Cas.

"You should learn not to speak so loudly, _Castiel_," he hissed. He stepped closer to Cas and opened his jacket, checking each side for something.

"Looks like you lost your blade," the angel said, making Cas' eyes shoot to Sherlock's. "How disappointing. You're even more pathetic as a human than you were as an angel."

Smirking, the angel's gaze moved to Sherlock.

"And you're with another human?" he asked. "I might have known. What, did the Winchesters outrun their usefulness?"

Castiel bristled slightly.

"Gagiel will be pleased to see you both," the angel said.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Gagiel?"

"If you'd follow me?"

Sherlock felt the semi-familiar sensation of falling through a void, like the earth had opened up beneath his feet or gravity decided to take the day off. When he regained his composure, he was inside an old fishing cabin, the empty woods still stretching on outside the windows.

In front of them stood two more angels occupying the vessels of a blonde woman and a gaunt-looking teenage boy. They both looked up immediately at the newcomers.

"Gagiel," the first angel said, stepping forward and regarding the woman. "We found them wandering in the woods nearby. Take a good luck at that one—," he pointed a finger towards Cas. "Look familiar?"

The woman eyed Castiel suspiciously as she passed the other angel.

"Castiel?" she realized. "Is that you?"

Castiel didn't say anything. He kept his expression stony.

"It is, isn't it?" Gagiel said with a smile, moving to stand right in front of him. Then her expression dropped and she smacked Cas hard enough across the face to jerk his neck to the side. When he turned it front again, he spit out blood.

"I'd give you a noble excuse, but that was purely for me," she said hatefully. "You deserve more than it after what you did to my garrison."

"You're right," Cas admitted, sounding honest. "I'm sorry."

Gagiel let out a bitter laugh. "Do you hear that? He's _sorry_! First, he murders thousands of our brothers and sisters and then he condemns the rest of us to a life in this cesspool. But he is _sorry_." She shook her head. "No, Castiel. You're not sorry yet."

"Did you ever consider you could be misjudging the situation?" Sherlock spoke up, and Gagiel's eyes turned on him. "You _have_ been living in the woods all this time. It's possible you have the wrong information about him."

She scoffed in Sherlock's direction. "Who is this _ant_?"

"Ant?" Sherlock repeated, a touch offended. "I'd prefer a bee, but I'd settle for an ant so long as I get to be queen of the colony." He gave a tight smile that made Gagiel regard him with distaste.

"Sherlock, that's enough," Cas tried, but Sherlock didn't listen.

"Did you think it was a coincidence we were walking in the forest so close to your cabin?" he posed to Gagiel.

"This is a sacrifice, then?" she asked, looking back to Cas. "You're like a pig to the slaughter."

"I haven't come to fight," Castiel told her. "I've come to ask for your help."

She chuckled again. "My help? You don't have my forgiveness, never mind my help."

"It isn't for me," Cas powered through. "You know that demons have overrun this country. What you don't know are their plans for the rest of the world. We have to stop them."

Gagiel raised a brow, seeming to consider this. After a pause, she asked, "Why?"

Cas looked at her in incensed perplexity. "Millions—_billions_—of people will die if we don't. We're supposed to be protectors of mankind."

"That was before we were forced to live amongst them," she snipped. Seeming to grow tired of the conversation, she walked back across the room and said, "Kill them."

"Wait, Gagiel!" Castiel pleaded.

"Yes, beg!" she said from over her shoulder, sounding bored. "How many asked for your mercy, Castiel? _Kill him_!"

Sherlock took that as his cue. Swiftly, he reached across his torso and, from inside his coat, pulled out Castiel's blade. In one motion, he flipped it around in his hand and thrust it behind him into the angel restraining him. On his skin, Sherlock felt an intense heat as a white light, so bright that it hummed in his ear, poured from the angel's orifices. He didn't wait for the body to hit the floor before ripping the angel's blade from its grip and tossing it to Castiel.

Cas broke free from the angel holding him, twirled around, and forced it into angel's stomach, producing the same light.

The other three angels were taking out their blades, too, preparing for a brawl.

"Ready for a knife fight?" Sherlock asked Castiel, his voice teasing. Cas nodded gravely in return.

The three angels rushed forward, Gagiel and the teenager going to Castiel and the other starting for Sherlock. The angel was much more skilled with the weapon than Sherlock was, but he managed to block the blows and escape the jabs whenever needed. Being on the offense was better, anyway. Skill had very little to do with swordplay, in Sherlock's opinion. It was about knowing your opponent, and merely avoiding the onslaught gave him time to plan.

He continued to escape the blade until he learned the angel's style of fighting. The slashes and stabs appeared random, but there was a method to them. It allowed Sherlock to calculate the angel's moves, which was important for Sherlock's timing. He'd only get one chance.

The angel swung his blade through the air, crossing it with Sherlock's above their heads, and Sherlock inwardly counted the milliseconds. Before the angel decided to react again, Sherlock uncrossed their blades and brought his down quickly to plunge it in the angel's chest. He had to close his eyes against the light.

Next to him, Castiel was still attempting to fend off Gagiel and the boy. At a point, Castiel shoved the teenager away to focus solely on Gagiel. The boy let himself fall back and watch the fight keenly, and Sherlock was just about to engage him, but he stopped.

The boy's eyes weren't on Castiel. They were on Gagiel's back, following her every move. The angel was calculating something.

Sherlock watched as the boy's knuckles went white as he redoubled his grip on his blade, and he rushed forward. He shoved the tip into Gagiel's back until it ripped through her, red and glistening, out of her chest. Her cries mixed in with the vibrations coming from her dying grace, and she crumpled to the floor.

Castiel eyed the last angel suspiciously, but did not move to fight him. Heaving in breaths to regulate his heartbeat, he asked in gravely tone, "Why did you do that?"

Sherlock walked slowly to Castiel's side, ready to provide backup if need be.

"I want to help you, brother," the angel said, letting his blade drop to the ground with a clatter and showing his palms in surrender.

"Who are you?" Cas wondered, narrowing his eyes to size him up.

"My name is Ambriel," was the answer. He looked down at the fallen bodies with sorrowful eyes before turning back to Cas and Sherlock. "I am sorry for the way they reacted," he went on. "I knew they blamed you for all that's happened, but I . . . I never told them my true beliefs. I had nowhere else to go; no one to turn to. I've never been to Earth. But I never held you liable, Castiel. Everything you did, you did for noble reasons. I want to be a part of that.

"There are others who feel the same," Ambriel continued. "I can find as many as I can for you. I can call them here to fight."

"And why should we trust you?" Sherlock asked skeptically.

"You have no reason to," Ambriel answered honestly, lowering his hands slowly. "But our Father told us to love humanity, but none of us love them as Castiel does. He is an example to us all."

He looked at Castiel again, trying to appeal to him. "You took a risk in coming here, asking for help. I'm asking you to take that risk again on me. I swear, you will not regret it."

Cas and Sherlock shared a glance, silently agreeing.

"Pick up your blade," Cas told Ambriel with a nod to the weapon at his feet. "You'll need it in battle."

A relieved breath escaped the angel, and he swooped down to collect the blade.

"Thank you, brother," he said. "I won't let you down."

There was a flutter of wings, and he was gone.

Having fully caught his breath now, Cas eyed the fallen bodies with more guilt than Sherlock had ever seen wrought on someone's features. But he soon pushed it away.

"Help me collect the rest of these blades," he said, bending down to Gagiel's body and taking the bloodied sword out of its hand. "They could come in handy against the demons."

"No doubt," said Sherlock, swooping down to collect two more. "Nice plan, by the way."

If Sherlock didn't know any better, he'd say a corner of Castiel's lips tugged upward.

"It wasn't much of a plan," he admitted. "But, I told you, I knew their camp was close. They would be scouting the forest to make sure no demons were around. If we talked enough about what I'd done, I knew they'd overhear and determine who I was."

"I usually just knock," Sherlock joked.

"It got us inside, either way," Castiel said, and Sherlock couldn't argue.

"But I meant what I said, Sherlock," Cas went on, "about humanity. It _does_ suit you."

Sherlock's expression went blank as he realized Castiel wasn't trying to compliment him. He was stating an observation.

Picking up the last blade, Cas walked passed Sherlock and exited the cabin.

* * *

The Jeep snaked up a long, overgrown driveway that led up to the old mansion atop the tall hill. Merlin peered out the window at the bushels of untended grass and unkempt trees. When they reached the house itself, the walls were overrun with ivy and the small balcony at the center of the house appeared to be a nesting area for birds and rodents.

They'd been on the road most of the day heading north until they reached the area a few miles from Sheffield. The car pulled up to the main door, and Arthur pulled his hood far down his face before following the others to the entrance. Dean gave a rhythmic knock and, a moment later, the door creaked open a sliver and eyeball stared back at them suspiciously until it caught sight of the Winchesters.

"You're back," a male voice said excitedly. The doorman slammed the door closed immediately. They heard the sound of multiple locks coming undone before the door opened again, revealing a warn-looking man of about sixty, but he looked nearly decade older. His face was wrinkled and leathery, and his thinning hair was bright silver; and Merlin had the creeping suspicion that it was the stress of the times that caused this. Behind him, Merlin could see the bustling of a dense crowd of squatters in the candlelight.

"Hey, Henry," Sam addressed the man kindly, but he was also looking behind him. "Uh—Think we can come in?"

"'Course, 'course! Anything for the Winchesters," Henry said happily, moving to the side to let them through. "And I see you've brought friends this time," he said as Merlin, Arthur, and John came through. Gwen and her team followed them, carrying boxes, and disappeared immediately into the house to unload them.

"Can't say we have any beds for you lot tonight," Henry said.

"Ah, no worries," Dean told him conversationally before asking, a touch more seriously, "Rita in?"

Henry nodded. "I'll send for her," he said, ushering them further into the house. "Make yourself at home for the time being."

Sam thanked him and their small group walked through the crowded foyer, deeper into the house. As they walked, Merlin noticed a large sunroom, made completely of glass, with an indoor pool. The water had turned thick and dark green with algae, and moss crept up the various statues of mermaids and cherubs that were decorated around the edge of the pool.

"What's happened to the owners?" he heard John ask, apparently having read his mind.

"No one knows," Dean told them as they walked through the kitchen. "Some people say they died, others say they fled the country. Anyway, the house is far enough away from anythin', so it was a good place to squat. Plus, it's one of the only places left with running water."

John snorted. "Remind me to have a shower, then."

"Why d'you think me and Sam blow through here a lot?" said Dean, and he and Sam casually waved and greeted people as they walked through the crowded living room.

"People seem very fond of you here," Arthur noticed aloud.

"Yeah, well, we helped them out a few months back," Sam told them. "Rita's son, Robbie—uh, Rita is kinda like, the head honcho around here. Anyway, Robbie got possessed. Me and Dean took care of it."

"Civilly, I hope?" John dared ask.

"Yeah, kid got lucky," Dean told him. "Quick and easy exorcism."

"Yeah, and then people here saw we knew what we were doing," Sam continued. "We kinda gave them a hunter's starting guide to demon hunting, just in case it ever happened again and we weren't here to help them."

Dean nodded and gave a small hum of affirmation. "Most of them took off after that, goin' in search of demons to hunt down or people to help. Lots of hunters, new and old, use this house as a base, and they have a big channel to other camps. So, we want Arthur's message to get out there, me and Sam figure this is the place to start."

Sam caught sight of someone over the crowd and pointed them out to his brother. "Dean, there she is," he said, and the five of them cut through the masses to a dark-haired, tall woman. Her sharp eyes caught sight of the Winchesters when they were halfway across the room.

She smiled warmly when they reached her. "Dean and Sam Winchester," she said in an Irish accent, embracing both of them in turn before standing back to get a good look at them. Around them, the crowd continued to bustle.

"Long time," she told them after a beat. "I'm happy to see you two boys are holding up."

"Yeah, you, too," Sam told her.

"I don't suppose you've brought me any more medication?" she asked at once in a stern voice, not making anymore time for chat.

Dean shook his head grievously, hating to give this woman bad news. "Not this time," he said. "None left. We got more food, though. We'll see if Gwen can scrounge some meds up next time she's in London."

Rita huffed. "That doesn't help me now," she said haughtily. "I have six children upstairs, ill as can be—not to mention a few adults."

"Uh, I'm a doctor," John piped up from next to Dean, offering his services. "I could take a look at them—," he shrugged and shook his head, "if you need it."

Rita gave a small sigh of relief. "That would be lovely, yes," she said before turning to her left and grabbing a man out of the crowd. "Julian, be a good lad and take this man up to the sick bay."

"Yes, ma'am," he said deferentially, and John followed him through the throng.

"So, uh, how's Robbie?" Sam asked when she turned back to them.

She gave another snort, but there was worry in her eyes now. "Last I heard from my son, he was smuggling people into France."

Dean's brows darted to his hairline. "I thought France wasn't takin' people anymore."

"I did say _smuggling_, didn't I?" Rita said patiently.

"Right," Dean breathed. "Anyway, we got someone you oughtta meet." He turned halfway around to Merlin and Arthur and placed a palm on Arthur's shoulder, gingerly forcing him to the forefront. "This is Arthur," he introduced with a lick of his lips.

Rita gave an incredulous expression, her mouth speechlessly agape as her intense gaze shot back and forth from the Winchesters to Arthur.

"_The_ Arthur?" she finally asked, awe in her voice before she remembered herself. Clearing her throat, she stood up straighter and fixed her eyes on Arthur. "Well," she said curtly. "You're certainly shorter than the legendary king I'd always pictured as a child."

Arthur blinked at her in shock. "You—You mean, you believe me?"

She let out a bitter laugh. "Boy, there is a tyrant in London turning our country to ruins, an army of devils from the underworld, and, I'm told, invisible aliens from space. Not to mention, the heavenly host fell on top of our heads less than a year ago. _Yes_, I believe you."

Merlin couldn't help but smile a little. He instantly liked this woman.

"We've heard enough stories about you from these two," Rita went on, gesturing to Dean and Sam. "I expect you'll be wanting to tell us a story of your own?"

Arthur nodded.

"Good," she said. "I'll gather everyone after supper."

True to her word, after dinner and clean up, Arthur stood by the fireplace in the drawing room in front of the hundred or so squatters of the mansion. Children and teens sat cross-legged on the floor in front, their fists on their cheeks as they watched him with starry eyes. Older men and women sat in chairs and on the sofa while the others stood around, packed in like sardines, waiting for Arthur to begin. As Merlin looked around, he saw some of them watching Arthur eagerly while others eyed him with distrust and speculation.

"Don't worry," Sam whispered from next to him, giving Merlin a small nudge. They stood to the side of the fireplace at the front of the crowd, and Sam must have noticed that Merlin was holding his breath. "He'll be fine."

"I know," Merlin lied. He'd heard Arthur speak before. He'd heard armies fall silent to listen to what he had to say; he'd seen minds changed and he'd seen men quake with fear or declare peace at Arthur's words. But that was different time, and he just hoped Arthur would be able to convince these people.

When the background hums and murmurings quieted, Arthur appeared to collect his thoughts and gazed around intently at the crowd, making eye contact with as many people as he could. He did not falter when he met the gaze of the non-believers.

"Over these many months, you have heard stories and rumors," Arthur began, engaging the crowed, and Merlin swore everyone in the room stopped breathing so they might better listen. "You've been told of a man who has slain dragons and fought giants; an ancient man who quested across the land, eager to unite it in peace. You have been asked to take on faith that this man has returned to you.

"But I am not here today to ask you to believe that. I cannot convince you that I am such a man. However, what I do ask of you is to search within yourselves, to find the principles and ideals that man stands for: peace and unity, a world in which you are free from tyranny and terror. I hold those truths within myself, and I will fight to regain that world. I am here to ask your help, in whatever way you see fit: whether it be care, food, supplies . . . or arms.

"I was told that people no longer fight for noble causes," he continued, now walking amongst the crowd. Heads turned to follow him. "But this is not a noble cause. This is personal, on the deepest level. You fight for your homes; so that your children will not live in fear; to see your wives or husbands again; so that you may live your life with the knowledge that you are safe and free."

When he reached the center of the room, he found a small coffee table and raised himself on it, looking all around him at the multitude below.

"I ask you to follow me. To stand up and fight for your very basic human rights. Find within yourselves the ability to slay dragons and giants. If we stand together, united, we cannot fail. Morgana's days are numbered, but only if you decide it to be so."

He took another sweeping look around the crowd.

"It is not I that will bring back this country," he said, winding down. "Stand with me, and it will be all of us."

He stepped down from his dais and the crowd parted to let him through. As he walked, the mutterings began again; and Merlin scanned the sea of faces, contorting his face as to not beam _so_ much with pride, but he felt as though his heart might burst from his chest.

* * *

Soon after, Sam found Dean and Gwen in the kitchen, stocking the pantries with cans of beans and vegetables and talking quietly so that the others working around them wouldn't overhear. Grabbing a box with more food, Sam joined them and began transferring the food onto the shelves. He must have taken them by surprise, because Dean and Gwen stopped talking when he approached, but they seemed to relax when they realized it was only him.

"What's the big secret?" Sam whispered to them.

"There's no secret," Gwen insisted. "We were just talking about Arthur's speech. How do you think it was received?"

Sam shrugged and focused on what he was doing. "Okay, I think," he said honestly. "He talks a good game."

Gwen snorted. "You're telling me. I almost forgot I'm alright with him and signed up again."

Dean and Sam let out a laugh.

"Yeah, tell you what," said Dean. "If this whole Savior of Britain thing doesn't work out, he'd make a hell of a career as a motivational speaker."

Sam let out another breath of laughter. "Tell me about it." He looked at Dean up and down, suddenly somber. "What about you? You think we got a chance in Hell?"

Dean let out a sigh. "Normally, I'd say no," he confessed. "But . . . I dunno. There's somethin' about this guy. He kinda makes you feel like we can pull it off."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean."

They all took a thoughtful pause, and Gwen seemed to collect herself first in order to walk off to find another box. It broke the spell over Sam and Dean, too, and Dean said, "Anyway. We better save a few of these supplies for us on the road. You need another water?"

"Nah," Sam said. "Still got mine from before."

Dean's eyes snapped to him. "What?" he asked urgently, making Sam furrow his brow.

Dean's expression softened. "C'mon, man. You're gonna get dehydrated. No water all day?"

Sam laughed a little awkwardly, not understanding why Dean was making such a big deal about it. "Okay, thanks, Dr. Winchester. I'll get right on that."

"You better," Dean warned. "We need you in fighting shape. No Charlie horses! I mean it, Sam."

"Alright, alright," Sam conceded. "Jeez."

"Good."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean pushed passed him.

* * *

That night, Merlin found Arthur standing in the doorway of the sick bay, leaning against the frame as he looked in fixedly at the row of cots. John was hustling about from patient to patient, checking on them. He told Merlin to be available if he needed a second opinion but, seeing him in action, Merlin didn't think he would.

Arthur was gazing upon a bed at the far end of the room, next to which a man and woman wept over a small lump covered fully in a white sheet. Merlin had seen that many times, whether in Camelot or a battlefield or a shift at the hospital. He gave a revered sigh in the parents' direction before searching Arthur's face up and down. Arthur didn't even appear to know Merlin was there.

"I think it went well," Merlin told him, catching him attention.

"Do you?" Arthur asked, sounding preoccupied.

"Yes. More than half the people here already offered their services," he told him. "Dean and Sam have practically been ambushed with people. Some have even left to spread the message to other communes."

Arthur nodded distractedly, still looking at the man and wife.

Merlin hesitated slightly. "You should be happy," he said. "Those who haven't signed up will soon, I know it."

Arthur took in a deep breath and closed his eyes at this.

"They're afraid, Arthur," Merlin tried to tell him. "They don't know what to do. But they will look to you for strength."

Arthur nodded again. "Yes, Merlin," he said absentmindedly. He stood up straight from the doorframe. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" Before getting a reply, he started towards the end of the room, towards the crying mother and father over the bed. Merlin watched him give them hushed, sympathetic words.

At that moment, John came up to him, breathing heavily and looking ragged.

"I could do with a break," he said exhaustedly.

"I can watch over them," Merlin offered, and John looked relieved. "Have you discovered the illness?"

John nodded. "Mostly just scarlet fever, which would be simple enough if we had the proper medicines. But there's also a case or two of cholera."

Merlin wrinkled his nostril in distaste. "Guess that means no showers tonight," he said disappointedly.

"Uh, _no_," John agreed. "And we should tell the kitchen to boil the drinking water. Still, at least it isn't Croatoan. I wouldn't even know where to start for that."

Merlin nodded towards the group at the back of the room. "Who was it?" he wondered in a hushed voice.

"Hmm? Oh," John followed his gaze with empathetic eyes. "It's a shame. A nine-year-old. Jacob, I think, was his name. Those are his parents. Died about a half hour ago." He took in a strong, steadying breath. "There wasn't anything I could do."

"Arthur seems taken by it," Merlin noticed.

"Yeah," said John with a sigh. "Well, he was here when it happened."

Merlin tore his eyes off Arthur and looked at John perplexedly.

"I think he just wanted to offer me his help," John explained. "That's when the boy went into a fit. Arthur held his hand until—"

Merlin didn't know what to say. Skirmishes and battles were one way to fall, but a child succumbing to sickness was another way entirely.

"Anyway, I suppose I'll go and alert the kitchen," John said, knocking Merlin out of his thoughts. "You're alright on your own?"

There was a beat before Merlin nodded, and a soft coughing fit sounded from one of the beds.

"Yeah," he said under his breath, but John had already gone.

Merlin brought his eyes back to Arthur; he was shaking hands with Jacob's father, who looked fired up about something, and Merlin knew Arthur had gotten another man to join the cause.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty.**

In the following days, they journeyed to three other camps in the north and the midlands. They received as much support in each of them as they found in Rita's commune, which gave them all more confidence than they carried when they left East Sussex. A little over a week from when they set out, the caravan was making its way back to the castle, but they still had miles to go and were quickly losing daylight.

As the sun was getting dangerously low on the horizon, Gwen directed the vehicles west to a village in Warwickshire that was on her usual route. She avowed they would have enough space to put them up for the night. Hiding Merlin and Arthur, they passed the checkpoint into the area easily and soon the green hills and trees made way for buildings and residential houses. They passed through the town's center, where a large village council building with an elaborate balcony loomed over the rest of the buildings in the square. They continued to drive until they pulled into the car park of the village inn, where they rented rooms until the morning.

"What d'we do for grub around here?" Dean said, rubbing his empty stomach through his shirt. "I'm starvin'."

"I know someone who will give us a meal," Gwen assured them. "He'll want to meet you lot."

Leaving her team behind, she led Sam, Dean, John, Merlin and Arthur away from the village center and up a winding hill with tightly packed homes on either side of the street. About halfway up the incline, she stopped at a door and knocked on it twice before stepping back.

Soon, the door cracked open, revealing a pair of eyes. Momentarily, the eye went wide and shocked. It disappeared before the door opened fully to a short, portly, and balding man. His large smile lit up the creases on his face, and he held out both his arms in a welcoming gesture.

"Gwen! Very good seeing you!" he exclaimed brokenly in a thick Russian accent.

"Hello, Mr. Golov," Gwen said happily.

"Who are your friends?"

She looked over her shoulder slightly to nod to each of them in turn. "This is Sam and Dean Winchester, John Watson, Merlin, and—this, Mr. Golov, is Arthur Pendragon."

Mr. Golov looked breathlessly at Arthur for a stunned moment before his eyes flashed back to Gwen. Suddenly, another smile erupted onto his face, and he laughed exuberantly.

"Oh, Gwen! You good girl—good girl!" He stepped aside, waving them into the entrance. "Come, come. Vera is almost done with cooking."

As Sam followed the others into the room, he heard Mr. Golov shout into the next room, "Vera!" followed by something in quick Russian.

He led them passed the stairs and into the modest living room, which was decorated warmly with crocheted blankets thrown over floral armchairs and velvet couches. The room was shadowy and tinted orange from the hot glow in the stone fireplace. Crouched next to the fire, a thin woman in an apron, with gray whisks highlighting her thick brown hair, was stirring something in a large iron pot. She looked up and, when she caught sight of Gwen, she smiled.

"Gwen, you are just in time for supper," she said, her English much better than her husbands, but her accent was just as potent.

"Vera! Look! Is Artur Pendragon!" Mr. Golov shouted, gesturing with both his hands to Arthur. "Good to have you in our home, very good!" He grabbed Arthur's hand with both of his and shook it for a long time.

Sam tried not to chuckle at the Arthur's besieged expression.

Mrs. Golov made her way next to her husband's side and shook Arthur's hand, too.

"It is a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Pendragon!" she said happily.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Arthur, please," he corrected her. "And, um, thank you for opening your home to us. I—_we_ are grateful." He gestured behind him, reminded the couple there were other people. Mr. and Mrs. Golov regarded them with pleasant smiles.

"I hope you like beef stew," Mrs. Golov told them. "You must be hungry after long journey."

"Ah, yes! Strong men—lots of stew!" Mr. Golov agreed. "Where is Viktor? _Viktor_!" He bounced out of the room to call up the steps, again yelling in Russian, but this time Sam heard Arthur's name in the mix.

Soon, a young boy who couldn't have been older than eighteen trampled down the steps and followed his father into the living room.

"Say hello to guests," Mr. Golov told his son, tousling his hair playfully. Viktor shot him an annoyed glare and smoothed out his hair as he walked over.

"Hello," he said, sounding positively British to Sam's ears. "It's good to meet you. I'm Viktor." He shook all of their hands in turn, not just Arthur's.

"Viktor, go set table for dinner," Mr. Golov told him, and Viktor nodded.

"Oh, let me help," John offered, squeezing his way through Sam and Dean to follow Viktor out of the room.

Minutes later, they all crowded together at the dining room table, Mr. and Mrs. Golov at either end while the rest of them sat elbow-to-elbow on the small sides. Mr. Golov had offered Arthur a place at the head of the table, but Arthur declined quickly, preferring a place in between Gwen and Merlin. Sam squeezed in next to Merlin, across from Dean, John, and Viktor.

For the first part of the meal, Sam was too preoccupied with his stew to pay much attention to the conversation. He knew the Golovs were drilling Arthur on the plans for recruiting and battle, as well as trying to get more information on the demons. Arthur answered vaguely, not giving too much away out of secrecy. Every now and again, Dean, John, Gwen, or Merlin would get a word in edgewise, but Sam resolved not to speak until his bowl was drained, and he found himself being offered seconds.

"So, Mr. Golov," Arthur began, wanting to change the topic. "How did you come to be such good friends with Gwen?"

Mr. Golov smirked slyly at her. "She is a merchant, I am a trader. We come to business agreement."

Gwen shook her head and smiled. "Mr. Golov is one of my weapons suppliers," she explained. "I told you, not everyone pays for my products with money. He and I have an arrangement."

"Is that so?" Arthur asked, suddenly looking at Mr. Golov in admiration. "How do you get the weapons?"

He laughed and wagged a finger at Arthur.

"I cannot tell you that, Artur."

"He won't even tell _me_ that!" Gwen said exasperatedly.

"Three rolls of toilet paper says it's the Russian mob," Sam just barely heard Dean mutter to John.

John stifled a snort of laughter. "You're on."

Sam caught Dean's eyes and cocked his head to the side in scolding. _Dean_, he mouthed through his teeth. _No_.

Dean pulled a face in return and mouthed, _What_?

Sam shot him another look.

_Shut up_, Dean said, so Sam kicked him under the table, making the bowls and silverware rattle.

Arthur shot them both a glare out of the side of his eyes, but he carried on speaking to Mr. Golov and Gwen. Dean, John, and Sam looked down sheepishly, but Merlin seemed very amused by the proceedings.

After dinner, they all helped clean up and thanked Mrs. Golov for the meal. Mr. Golov and Viktor walked them to the door to bid them goodnight.

"We're staying at the inn if you need us," Gwen told them as she hugged them both.

"Thank you again," Arthur said, stepping forward. Mr. Golov pulled him into an unexpected, tight hug, eliciting a choked noise from Arthur. The embrace wasn't broken until Arthur reached up and patted him on the back. Viktor looked as though he were about to pass out from embarrassment.

"You are always welcome here, Artur Pendragon," Mr. Golov told him pointedly. "We are rooting for you."

"Thank you," Arthur said again, a little awkwardly, and the father and son went back inside.

They all waited until they were off the front property and on the street before teasing Arthur all the way back to the inn.

* * *

Merlin awoke to the sound of a muffled drumbeat and the indistinct murmurings of what sounded like a mass of people from the street. Realizing it was still dark out, he sat up quickly in bed and looked towards the window. Arthur was next standing next to it. He had the curtain pulled back only enough for him to see through.

"What's going on?" Merlin whispered. When Arthur didn't answer, he got out of bed and rushed to Arthur's side.

"Arthur."

"I'm not sure," Arthur finally told him.

Merlin moved around Arthur to look out the window, too. Below them in the street, a crowd of people still in their pajamas was rushing towards the village square. Merlin looked in the direction from which everyone was coming, and he saw people still leaving their homes. A few men were even arguing with their wives and children on their front porches, trying to get them to stay put, before mixing in with the crowd.

The door behind them burst open suddenly, causing Merlin to spin around quickly with his palm raised. He knew Arthur would have dove for his sword next to his bed, but they both realized it was only Sam and Dean in the threshold.

"Somethin's going on at the village council," Dean said. "Gwen and John ran down there as soon as the drums started."

"Why?" Merlin asked, fearing the worst.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

"There were some Enforcers taking Mr. Golov that way," Sam told them.

Arthur barely hesitated. "We have to see what's going on," he said determinedly as he crossed towards his bed and started slipping into his shoes.

"Not sure that's a good idea," Dean told him. "Puttin' you two so close to all those demons—"

"We're going," Arthur insisted, not leaving any more room for argument. He collected his sword, and Merlin rushed to put on his trainers and grab his hoodie before they all made for the exit.

The village square was packed when they arrived, everyone facing the tall council building, which was lit up by large torches. Arthur tried to push his way into the crowd to get a better look at what was happening. Merlin hissed his name, but Arthur didn't listen, leaving them no choice but to follow after him. Merlin caught tidbits of tense conversation and whispers as he elbowed around people, but he found their words escaping him. The drumbeat was too loud, ringing steadily in his ears. Through the crowd, he sometimes caught flashes of the Enforcers' white uniforms next to one of the shops.

When they were about halfway through the crowd, Merlin heard someone say Sam and Dean's names in a harsh whisper, and the three of them turned their heads to find John and Gwen, amongst others, huddled on a raised wooden deck outside a cobbler's shop. John gestured them over before stepping back into the shadowed area, where the torchlight couldn't hit him.

Merlin called for Arthur again and grabbed at his shirt, physically making him turn around. When Arthur got the message, they pushed towards the deck and met John and Gwen. From that height, they could just see over the heads of the crowd, and they had a better view of what was happening right outside the council building.

Mr. Golov stood in front of the crowd, two Enforcers with artillery guns flagging him on either side. More demons with guns were holding the crowd back, and Merlin saw four more in a row right next to the building's doors. They were the source of the drumbeats. However, they abruptly stopped playing, and a collective gasp overcame the crowd of villagers.

"Oh, my god," John muttered behind Merlin, and Merlin brought his gaze away from Mr. Golov and up to the balcony, where Morgana was now standing with two more Enforcers behind her.

Merlin took in a sharp inhale and bit his tongue and, shifting his gaze to Arthur, he realized Arthur, too, was trying to control himself.

"Get behind us, quick," Dean ordered, and he, Sam, John, and Gwen manhandled Merlin and Arthur behind them for cover, further into the shadows next to the wall.

"Alexei Golov," Morgana said, her voice booming throughout the square. All other sounds subsided. "You are charged as a traitor to the Committee for selling undocumented firearms to civilians. Do you deny this crime?"

Mr. Golov glared up at her from his place below. He looked pale and sickly in the firelight, and Merlin thought he was trembling; however, he stood his ground.

"No," he said clearly.

"You understand the punishment for traitors is death by firing squad?" Morgana asked.

"Yes."

"Yes, I thought you might," she said, a catlike grin pulling at her lips. "But I am willing to offer you a deal, with all your friends and neighbors standing witness. Your sentence will be lessened in exchange for information. Give up the names of your clientele, namely any merchants who have passed this way . . ."

"We have to do something," Arthur whispered to the others. "We can't allow him to give Gwen's name."

"He wouldn't do that," Gwen said.

"And how is that better?" asked John. "He'll die if he doesn't."

"We have to stop this," Arthur decided, starting forward.

"No, Arthur," Merlin hissed, grabbing Arthur by the arm and pulling him back against the wall. "Do you really think Morgana would come up here to execute _one_ man? She doesn't care about Golov; she wants us. She must know we're here, and she wants to draw you out."

"He's probably right," Sam agreed. "What are the chances she gets here tonight and takes the guy we _just_ had dinner with?"

"We've been on the road for a few days now," Dean continued for him. "One of her spies probably spotted us and has been tailin' us."

"Then why not just kill us quietly?" Gwen pointed out.

"It doesn't matter," Arthur told them in general. "I won't let an innocent man die for me."

"Give us the names, Golov," Morgana said again, louder this time.

"Not ever," Golov told her with menace, and he spat on the group next to one of the Enforcer's shoes.

"I was trying to be kind," Morgana said after a moment, still smirking. "Bring them out."

There were sudden screams and shouts from a struggle, and the villagers all started to speak again while others remained in silent tears. Over the crowd, Merlin watched as two Enforcers brought forward Mrs. Golov and Viktor. They stood them next to Mr. Golov, who now looked panicked.

"Give us the names, or you will all be treated as traitors," Morgana shouted, but the crowd didn't go silent. This time, they raged and shouted.

"Your wife and child will die along side you!"

"Okay, we need to come up with a plan," Dean said, controlling the panic in his tone. From over the crowd, Merlin heard Mr. Golov pleading with Morgana.

"And _fast_."

"I've one," Arthur said, his expression set and stony. Before anyone could stop him, he pushed past the Winchesters and towards the stairs of the deck.

"No, Arthur!" Merlin called, trying to grab him but missing by a few inches.

Arthur hustled down the stairs and pushed back into the crowd, blending in so Merlin could no longer see him.

Meanwhile, the Golovs were being stood up and blindfolded against the wall of the council building. A row of Enforcers was leveling their weapons. Mr. Golov was still pleading for his family's life while Mrs. Golov was shouting at him in Russian and Viktor was sobbing in fear. The drumbeat was sounding again.

Morgana raised her hand, preparing to bring it down and give the order.

"_Stop_!"

Arthur's voice silenced the crowd immediately. He had made his way close to the front of the crowd, and everyone around him turned around to look at him. He began to walk forward still, and the people parted and moved out of his way until he was at the very front.

Morgana was breathing heavily as she stared down at him like it was Christmas.

"It isn't this family you want, Morgana, and it isn't the merchants," Arthur continued on so that the entire square heard him. He tilted his head to the side and looked up at her. "It's me."

"This is a stupid plan," Dean groaned, but he took out his gun and started for the stairs. Everyone else followed his lead, being as stealthy as possible as they pushed their way through the crowd. Merlin prayed Arthur could keep Morgana talking long enough for them to reach the front.

"You're even more of a fool than I thought, Arthur," Morgana was saying. "Leave it to you to be so self-sacrificing. Shouldn't the Doctor be at your side?"

"The Doctor is not here," Arthur said. "You'll never find him."

Morgana gave a quick laugh. "I will," she said, her smile fading. "But you'll never see that day." She turned to her demons. "Kill him!"

The Enforcers from the firing squad raised their guns rapidly, and the sound of gunshots filled the air.

But not from the demons' guns.

They all fell motionlessly to the floor and Dean was still holding up his Colt as he ran to Arthur's side. Coming from the other side, Sam got one demon with his dagger and Merlin exorcised another before they, too, joined Arthur. Gwen and John took a few more out as they advanced, and the demons exploded into dust upon impact.

"Looks like Sherlock and Castiel's bullets work, after all," John said over his shoulder when he reached Arthur and Dean.

"No!" Morgana shouted from above. The demons beside her had disappeared, and Merlin realized they, along with others, had gone into the crowd. The village square was now chaotic as some ran in hopes of escape and others began to riot.

Merlin spun around to look up at Morgana, and she looked back.

She moved to raise her palm at him, but he was quicker. He pushed at the air forcefully, causing her to fly backward and crash through the glass doors behind her.

There was more gunfire in the middle of the masses, drawing Merlin's attention back to the ground. More demons, some with weapons and some without, were headed their way, and Dean, Sam, and Arthur had already run off to fight them. Gwen had made her way to the Golovs and was leading them quickly away from the council building, and they were soon lost in the crowd.

Merlin faced forward, alerted by a flash of clean white in the corner of his eye. The demon was already too close, and the ground was ripped out from under Merlin as the Enforcer picked him up and threw him a few feet. It almost knocked the wind out of him, but he recovered and shot out his hand towards the demon. He closed his fist, and the demon gagged as it fell to its knees. A black pillar shot from its throat and the vessel dropped facedown on the floor.

Merlin forced himself to his feet and ignored the pain in his spine. His nostrils burned with smoke, and on the other side of the square, a shop was burning bright orange against the now pink sky. People were scattering all around him as he moved through the crowd, looking for someone to shield or protect—someone in particular.

He caught sight of Dean and John shooting their way through another onslaught, and he thought he heard Sam's loud shouts as he ordered people back to their homes. Where was Arthur?

The sound of crying reached Merlin, and he spun around to see a little girl in a nightgown being jostled by the crowd. Another Enforcer was close by her, and Merlin doubted he'd do more than push the girl out of the way and seek a real fight, but Merlin wasn't about to take that chance. He ran in between the child and the demon and held out his palm, willing all his magic forward.

A flash of white blinded the area as a bolt of energy sprung from Merlin's fingers and connected with the demon's chest. It made the creature fly through the air, in Dean and John's direction.

Merlin turned back to the girl and knelt down on one knee.

"Where's your mummy?" he asked, but she only continued to cry.

Merlin looked up, scanning the faces for a panicked man or woman calling out a name, but there were too many to count. He saw Dean run over and, without a word, scoop up the girl. She cried even louder, but he ignored it.

"I'll take care of her," he shouted to Merlin. "Go find Arthur—_go_!"

Dean rushed off again, and Merlin turned back to the crowd, looking everywhere for a familiar head of gold. His gaze passed over the council building, and he finally located Arthur on the balcony, fighting singlehandedly against four demons.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, quite uselessly. The word was drowned out.

He ran towards the building, stopped every now again by a demon. He kept one eye on Arthur as he fended them off with magic or exorcised them. When he got to the front, he saw Sam in the crowd. He had blood on his face and his hands, and red was staining his jacket, but he kept on tirelessly. Merlin found himself half-expecting Zeke to take over and end this once and for all, but he did as Merlin said and stayed dormant against the potion.

Sam took out another demon before making eye contact with Merlin, and a look of controlled fear passed over him.

"Where's Dean?" he shouted, but Merlin could only shake his head.

Suddenly, Sam's expression was no longer controlled. He ran forward.

"_Merlin_!"

There was another gunshot, and Merlin felt something pinch his side. He placed his palm on the spot and pulled back blood. Suddenly, all the shouts and cries around him faded into a din. He cast his eyes up at Arthur, who had a demon's hand around his throat. He was half off the balcony and fighting for balance.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, his own voice sounding distant. A sharp, thudding pain shot through his body as something metal made contact with his head, and he fell the ground with a pained shout.

The sounds and smells flooded back to him, and he heard Sam shouting his name close by. He turned his eyes up to find Sam through his eyelashes. Two white-uniformed men were forcing Sam to his knees, and another held a gun in his face.

Merlin gave another cry and he forced himself to his knees, too, and his back swayed into something sharp and pointed, like a sword.

"Don't move," someone behind him ordered, "or I'll run you through."

Merlin looked in front of him towards the nearby building, and he saw Gwen struggling as a demon pulled her closer to the doors. Two more demons were leading Dean and John forward at gunpoint.

He looked up at the balcony, where Arthur had managed to regain control. He cut down the last demon and then ran to the railing to view the square. Merlin knew Arthur hadn't spotted him, but he was looking at Dean, John, and Gwen with alarm in his eyes. He didn't notice Morgana walk out of the shattered doors behind him.

"Arth—!" Merlin tried to shout, but the demon behind him jabbed the tip of his knife an inch into the skin between his shoulders, and Arthur's name blended into a cry. Why had that caused so much pain?

As more people noticed Morgana's reappearance, the chaos died down and silence fell over the area. The shop in the distance still smoldered, sending up black plumes into the cool blue dawn.

"Hello, dear brother," Morgana said just loud enough for Merlin to hear.

Arthur spun his sword out, turning his body with it and holding the tip mere millimeters from Morgana's throat. She didn't flinch.

"You don't _really_ think that's going to work again, do you?" she said tauntingly. "Your silly little toy can't kill a Knight of Hell."

She flicked her chin upwards, and the sword tore from Arthur's grip and landed near the doors behind them. Then Morgana waved her hand in the same direction. Arthur went flying and crashed into the wall. He crumpled to the floor.

Every instinct told Merlin to run to Arthur's side, but he found his limbs had gone numb. He looked down at them, but instead saw a small pool of red around his knees. He wanted to keep his head hanging lazily, but then he heard Arthur shout in pain, and Merlin forgot his own.

Morgana had her palm held up in Arthur's direction, and her fingers were curled in tensely. She raised her arm, and Arthur's body unnaturally followed the movement. He was dragged up the wall to a stand.

Morgana twisted her wrist, making Arthur choke and gag.

"I'm going to make you wish you'd never returned," Morgana said to him, her voice growing in volume. "And, once I'm finished, I'm going to hang your body from the balcony and broadcast it for all of Britain and Ireland to see."

Arthur appeared to be struggling hard. His face was turning crimson and his jaw was locked. But he did not move. He was paralyzed under the crushing force of Morgana's grip.

"Then I'll kill Emrys—slowly—and everyone else you came here with," she went on. "And I'll search out your base and burn it to the ground with all your feeble soldiers inside. Oh, Arthur, I'm just getting started."

She tightened her hand into a fist, and Arthur emitted an agonized scream.

"Look at him!" Morgana boomed, still holding her hand up but turning to face the square. "This is your so-called savior. The high and mighty Arthur Pendragon, come to liberate you all. But he's _nothing_ now. Only a fragile man who thought he could destroy _me_."

She looked back at Arthur, taking a few steps closer to him.

He let out another cry, and this time crimson spilled from his bottom lip and coated his chin as it ran downward.

"He's _weak_, just like the rest of you," Morgana screamed gleefully. She spun around again, her eyes wide and savage. "And he will die—_just like the rest of you_!"

There was another shout, this one louder and more anguished than the previous. It echoed through the square and reverberated through Merlin: each of his ragged breaths, each second of his long life, each trip to the banks of the lake, each hopeful moment, each dark night, each wasted year . . .

Merlin closed his eyes and screamed, too.

He was dead. Arthur was dead. Merlin knew it. He had failed again, but none of that mattered anymore—because Arthur was dead.

Merlin ripped open his eyes, forcing himself to look—to know for sure. And what he saw, he did not expect.

Arthur was not dead.

Arthur had broken free of the wall and reclaimed his sword. Merlin watched as Morgana stumbled backwards until she hit the railing. She was trembling as though she were looking at her worst nightmare.

Arthur forced his sword forward, piercing it straight through her, and she gasped so loudly that it echoed.

"It may not kill you," Arthur told her through his teeth, "but it will hurt."

He twisted the blade and ripped it out her, causing her to cry out and fall to her knees before him. He took a step back, wobbling only slightly.

"_How_—?" she said brokenly. "I had you paralyzed. That's not possible!"

He drew his sword back again, ready to deal another blow. Before he could, she vanished.

Suddenly, the pressure on Merlin's back was gone. He looked at Sam, who was no longer being threatened. Dean, John, and Gwen were free, too. The Enforcers had fled with Morgana.

Sam rose to his feet, his expression stunned as he kept his eyes fixed on Arthur.

In the quiet, Merlin heard Dean say distantly, "Oh, my stars . . ."

The crowd was still silent, all of them with their gazes directed to the balcony—to Arthur—in awe.

Then, all at once, the square erupted into cheers and whistles and applauses. Arthur scanned the crowd from side to side, taking in the applause with a set expression. Then he took a deep breath in.

He raised his sword up high over his head, pointing the tip to the sky; its reflection caught the morning sunrays. The crowd became louder.

Merlin looked down at his side, where the blood had made his shirt black and heavy with moisture. But he couldn't feel it. Everything was numb, and the world before him was getting dark.

But Arthur was alive. Arthur was safe.

Merlin didn't realize he was swaying until his cheek his the tar, and he slid his warm, smooth eyelids closed to the black.

* * *

"Put him here! Here!" John shouted as they all rushed through the bedroom door. He was pointing that the bed.

Dean and Sam were carrying Merlin between them, Dean holding his legs and Sam having wrapped his arms under Merlin's armpits. His head kept lolling heavily to the side, and crimson was leaking through the plaid shirt Dean had taken off and tied around Merlin's torso to control the bleeding. Merlin's chest was rising and falling with shallow breaths.

They set him down quickly but carefully where John had indicated before moving to the end of the bed to give them some space. Gwen and the Golovs stayed in the doorway to keep the area clear, too; but Arthur did no such thing. He was kneeling on the mattress next to Merlin as John, who was kneeling next to side of the bed, unwrapped Dean's shirt from the wound and peeled it away. The blood started to gush again.

Sam gulped at the sight, trying to distract himself from the fact that Merlin was growing paler by the second. He met Dean's eyes for a tense moment before they looked back at the bed.

"Someone open the blinds," John demanded. "I need light!"

Sam rushed to the window and pulled the cord, allowing the bright sun to pour into the room and flood over the mattress. It made the wet blood glisten, and Sam had to avert his eyes from it.

"You have to remove the bullet," Arthur told John as John applied pressure to the wound with a cloth.

He shook his head. "No."

"You _have_ to!"

"That's the _last_ thing I should do!" John shouted at him. "I remove that bullet and he'll bleed out!"

Sam brought his eyes back to Merlin and realized at once his chest was still.

"He's already bleeding out!"

"Guys!" Sam shouted, moving forward to the end of the bed to get a better look. "He's not breathing."

John and Arthur immediately tore their eyes off one another and looked down at Merlin. Arthur looked panicked, but John abandoned the wound and pressed his finger to the pulse point in Merlin's neck. Quickly after, he placed his ear to Merlin's chest and listened. Sam watched as the worry and hope in John's eyes turned to acceptance.

Taking a breath, John sat back and looked at Arthur apologetically. Arthur looked back at him as though the world had stopped turning.

Sam deflated, sweeping his eyes to the floor before casting them behind him at Dean. Dean's face was contorted with a sadness that showed in his bright green eyes, and Sam tensed his jaw to stop it from trembling.

"No," Arthur said at once with conviction. "That can't be. He can't die."

"Arthur, I am sorry," John told him.

"He _can't_ die!" Arthur shouted again through gritted teeth. "_Mer_lin! Don't be such a girl! It's only a bullet wound. Merlin!"

"Arthur . . ." Gwen tried, taking a step forward. She rested her palm on his shoulder, but he brushed it off.

He continued to stare down, his expression slowly falling into something blank and hopeless.

"Merlin."

John stood up, wiping his hands with a fresh cloth and leaving the dirty one discarded on the floor. Dean walked around the bed and touched his hand to Arthur's shoulder. This time, Arthur did not flinch.

"C'mon, Arthur," he said soothingly, and Arthur allowed himself to be led backwards. "Come on."

Steadying himself, Sam looked back to Merlin with big eyes, remembering what Merlin had said to him after they buried Aithusa. Sam promised he'd have Merlin's back, but he didn't when it really mattered. He kept staring, Merlin's wording echoing through his head . . .

Merlin's eyes shot open, glowing a bright gold, and his chest inflated with a loud, deep breath.

Everyone turned back quickly to look at him, and Sam was suddenly aware of his heart pounding against his chest. He let out an involuntary breath of laughter at the sight, even though Merlin had gone still against the mattress again. At least he was breathing.

Arthur shook himself out of Dean's grip and jumped back to Merlin's side, shouting out his name. John, too, ran back to the side of the bed to inspect Merlin further. He looked back at the wound and, in perplexity, said, "The bleeding's stopped."

Arthur caught his eyes sternly. "Take the bullet out," he demanded.

John nodded, and then turned his gaze on the Golovs. "I need antiseptic. Rubbing alcohol."

"We don't have any," said Mrs. Golov.

"You got vodka?" Sam asked quickly.

"We're Russian," said Viktor.

Sam shot him a look but let the comment slide. "Go get it!"

As Viktor ran out of the door, John called after him, "And a needle and thread! He'll need stitches."

"Alright, everyone, let's give him some space," Gwen said, ushering Mr. and Mrs. Golov out of the bedroom.

"I'll need a basin of water and more rags," John ordered.

"I'm on it," Dean volunteered before running out the door, too.

"I'm not going anywhere," Arthur told John determinedly.

John did not seem keen to argue. He reached into his medical bag and pulled out a small scalpel and a pair of rubber gloves. "Then, I hope you don't get squeamish," he told Arthur. He slipped into the gloves and pressed the tip of the blade to Merlin skin around the bullet wound.

Pausing, he looked at Arthur again and said, "Hold him down if he starts shouting."

As Arthur nodded with bravado, Sam decided to go find out what was taking Dean so long with the water. He hustled out of the room, and John set to work.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One.**

He awoke to the sunshine. It was red behind his eyelids, and warm on his skin. He opened his eyes to it, watching it filter through the window and catch twinkling specks of dust.

His side felt stiff and, when he tried to move, a sharp pain shot through his gut. He groaned at it, and something on the other side of him shuffled. He turned his head on the pillow to find Sam, sitting in a chair and resting his head on his crossed arms. Merlin must have woken him up, because he tensed and sat up.

"Hey," he said groggily, blinking at the light and puffing out his chest in a stretch. "Thought we lost you," he then continued. He frowned. "Actually, we _did_ lose you for a second there."

Merlin let out a deflating breath and reached to his wounded side where a large, clean white gauze was taped.

"That always happens to me," he groaned, and Sam gave a warm smile, obviously too tired to chuckle.

"Where's Arthur?"

"Downstairs. We had to pretty much force him out of here to get some rest. He was pretty bruised up after what happened—inside and out—but he's fine." Sam shook his head and brushed his fingers through his hair. "Man, what he did . . . I've never seen anyone retake control like that. People here are goin' nuts. They won't stop talking about it. We've already got people volunteering to come fight for us, saying they wanna leave with us right away. When word of this gets out, people are gonna be lining up to help us."

Merlin couldn't help but smile proudly, no matter how droopily.

"When are we leaving?" he asked.

"When you rest up," Sam told him strictly.

"I am rested," Merlin insisted. He proved it by sitting up, even though he winced at the pain.

"You sure?"

"Yes. We're not waiting here for me. Morgana could come back with reinforcements."

"She hasn't yet, man. It's been two days," Sam said, taking Merlin off guard. Had he really been out that long? "I think she's scared."

"Good."

Sam tried to convince Merlin to keep resting, but Merlin didn't listen. Instead, Sam helped get him redressed and down the stairs into what Merlin realized was the Golovs' living room.

"Look who's up," Sam announced as they entered the room, and everyone present gave Merlin a smile and assorted greetings.

But Merlin only cared for one. He made eye contact with Arthur almost instantly, and Arthur gave him a small, soft smile and a nod hello from across the room.

They were all pretty adamant about leaving, but Mrs. Golov convinced them to stay and fixed them lunch. Afterwards, all three family members walked the group to the door and said goodbye with grateful hugs.

"So, uh, hey," Dean said before they parted for good. "How _do_ you get your guns anyway?"

Mr. Golov narrowed his eyes and pointed a chubby finger at Dean. "Okay. For you? I tell," he said. "Is my wife. She knows how to build them. Her whole family workers at Degtyarev plant for many generations before we move to England."

Dean groaned and leaned back in defeat at the information, but John looked at him and beamed.

"Well, Mr. Golov, it was a _pleasure _meeting you," John said shaking his hand wildly.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean muttered.

The Golovs waved them off, telling them to come back soon, and the group started down the hill towards the trucks.

* * *

The caravan pulled into the car park outside the castle in the early evening and, as they began unloading, Yasmin, Kate, Mary, and Clara exited the castle to greet them. While Dean scooped up Clara and Mary and John shared a moment, Yasmin and Kate went straight up to Merlin and Arthur.

"We were expecting you sooner," Kate told them.

"My apologies," said Arthur, glancing at Merlin. "We ran into some trouble."

"We heard all about it," said Kate, making Merlin look at her in perplexity.

"I'm sorry?"

"About what happened in Warwickshire," Yasmin elaborated. "People won't stop talking about it. You should see the number of people who have come to the castle since then. They're from all over the north and the midlands."

"We've even gotten word of groups making their way from Scotland," Kate added.

"Told you word would spread," Sam said from nearby before directing his focus on Yasmin. "Cas get back yet?"

"A few days ago," she answered. "He and Sherlock are inside."

"And how did your voyage go?" Arthur asked both women. "Did you find anyone from your order?"

A smile pressed Yasmin's lips. "Yes. About half a dozen of them, and more are on their way. We're alerting as many druids as we can find."

"Well, if they're here now, I'd quite like to meet them," Arthur answered.

"Me, too," Merlin interjected. "I guess I owe them a thank you."

"They're inside the castle," Yasmin said, trying not to sound too excited. She turned and gestured them forward. "Come with me."

* * *

As the weeks went on, people from all over converged on the castle, offering themselves up for battle. It seemed like their forces would double overnight, bringing in merchants, hunters, druids, civilians, and soldiers. Eventually, they had close to two thousand people living in and around the castle, and their alliance with UNIT and assorted rebel groups spread their influence to every part of the UK and Ireland.

They still made their rounds with Gwen's team, but no longer for recruitment. Now, whenever they traveled to the villages and communes, it was for communication and to check on the progress on all the fronts. More riots and skirmishes than ever were breaking out throughout the country, only now the rebels were trained and organized. They were winning.

Morgana responded by sending in more of her Enforcers and, for a short timem there was a massive demonic presence around the Clyde naval base in Scotland, the deployment center for the nuclear weapons. Arthur led the campaign there himself until all the Enforcers were driven out of the port, but no thermonuclear warheads were found. Shortly after, Morgana's broadcasts stopped altogether.

The victories brought high morale throughout the castle, but Arthur believed they shouldn't take their success for granted. Training was still mandatory on a daily basis, and Dean noticed an improvement in the volunteers across the board. However, there were still those new to the efforts who needed work, like Bell, a middle aged man from Plymouth who could never seem to hit his target during practice. Both Dean and John had tried giving him personal attention, but no good seemed to come of it.

The same was true that day as Dean walked in back of the line of soldiers as they fired rounds at the wooden targets that had been set up along the grounds. Bell hadn't hit a single one, but Dean had to hand it to the man: He never stopped trying.

Across the field, Dean caught sight of Mary, wrapped up in a hat and sweater against the chilled air, walking towards him, not flinching at the loud bangs of the guns going off. She appeared as accustomed to it as Dean was. When she reached halfway down the line, she waved him over pleasantly.

"Have you seen my husband?" she asked over the backfire.

"Think he went inside to find you," Dean told her, trying to be helpful. "Said it was lunchtime."

There was a loud cracking sound as a bullet hit a branch of a nearby tree, making it snap off and fall to the grass below.

"Dammit, Bell!" Dean yelled involuntary, eliciting an apology from Bell.

"New guy?" Mary asked with a raised brow.

"Wish I could say that," Dean grumbled. "He's been at it for about three weeks. Hasn't hit a target in all that time."

Mary watched Bell for a pause, studying him. "Well, no wonder. His stance is off," she said, and Dean furrowed his eyebrows at her. She cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted, "Bell! Try moving your left foot back a few inches and lower your right elbow."

Ever open to suggestion, Bell did as he was told. To Dean's amazement, the next bullet Bell loosed hit the edge of its target. It wasn't perfect, but it was definite progress. Mary grinned smugly at Dean, and Dean eyed her in astonishment.

"How the hell did you know that?"

She shrugged innocently. "John's been training people for months, and I've been looking on. You pick up on a few things."

Dean was pleasantly surprised, and he let out a chuckle. "You're one badass lady, Mrs. Watson."

She seemed pleased to hear it.

* * *

Merlin stood against the back wall of the castle, watching the grounds before him as Arthur trained a group of soldiers on the opposite side of the pathway from Dean's session. But he was only vaguely aware of the sounds of gunfire in the distance. His full attention was on Arthur and, from the sidelines, a few other people were watching, too: little boys with hero worship in their eyes and giggling and whispering teenaged girls. They, along with those new to training with Arthur, gaped as he impressively twirled his blade with a few flicks of his wrist.

He went easy on the newbies, even though he would never admit it. But, every now and again, he would give the onlookers a show as he demonstrated something to the trainees. Those were the opportunities in which he revealed how talented and ferocious he was with his blade. His skill made it look easy, like a graceful dance instead of a deadly force. People would applaud for him and cheer him on, and Arthur would throw his head back and laugh at the sky as though he were a boy in a game of wooden swords and plastic horses.

Merlin assumed, in the grand scheme of things, that's all any of them were. But Arthur had always been so much more. He'd been back in Merlin's world for such a short period, and already Merlin could not seem to place himself in a life with Arthur. And he also knew that life was nearing its end again.

He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, allowing himself to slide down the brick to sit down. But he soon felt the presence of another standing before him, and he opened his eyes again.

"Hello," James said timidly. Merlin peered behind James to see three other children standing in a huddle, surreptitiously looking over at them in turn. Obviously, James had lost some sort of bet.

"Alright, James," Merlin said back.

The boy looked down at his shoes and crushed pieces of grass with the toes of his trainers, and Merlin wondered if he had ever been that young.

"Would you like to sit?" Merlin reached. James was hesitant, but he plopped down next to Merlin and let out a breath, obviously wanting to get this over with. Merlin looked at him expectantly.

"Me and the other kids were wondering," the boy said, hardly meeting Merlin's gaze. "If you're really Merlin, how come you don't have a pointy beard?"

Merlin let out a soft laugh. He didn't know why, but he was relieved. "You don't think I'm really him, then?"

James shrugged.

Merlin thought for a moment. "What's your favorite sweet, James?"

James seemed to perk up a bit. "I like chocolate," he said enthusiastically.

Merlin beamed at him. "Me, too." Promptly, he reached behind James' ear and his eyes flashed gold. When he brought his hand back down, there was a small brightly wrapped square of chocolate between his fingers. "There you are."

However, James looked unimpressed. "I've got an uncle who can do that," he taunted. "Not the eyes thing, though."

"Oh, yeah?" said Merlin with an air of a man who was taking the gloves off. "Can your uncle do this?"

He crossed his legs and placed both palms flat on the grass in front of him. His eyes flashed again, and then he lifted both hands to reveal three narrow Cadbury bars under them. James gasped, his eyes wide, and Merlin grinned wildly as the children nearby began to clap happily.

He collected the chocolate and handed it to James. "Go on," he told him. "Go share these with your mates."

James hopped to his feet, already salivating over the candy. "Thanks, Mr. Smith—er, _Merlin_!" he said, and scampered off to meet his friends. Merlin watched them go until he felt another pair of eyes on him.

He turned his head to see Sam slowly pacing over. Sam pulled a frown and flapped his arms at his sides. "Any chance you can drum up a Chicago deep dish—extra onions?"

Merlin chuckled warmly. "I'd be your brother's hero."

"Just a little."

Sam sat down next to him, and there was a quiet pause before Merlin asked, "How is training going?"

Sam shrugged. "Pretty good. I think people are itching for a fight, but . . ." He shook his head thoughtfully. "They're scared. They aren't soldiers, man."

"They seem to be coming along," Merlin told him. "Don't doubt them. They have a cause—and a leader. I've seen many men go into battle to preserve their homes, and I've even seen some of them win. Give them a chance; they'll rise to the occasion."

"Huh," Sam thought aloud after a moment.

"What?" Merlin wondered.

"Nothin'," Sam said. "Just, for a second there, you sounded like the Doctor."

Merlin brought his attention back to the grass before him, wondering whether or not he should take that as a compliment.

Before he could figure it out, Sam nudged his shoulder. "I hear we're not the only trainers anymore. Yasmin said you were teaching a few tricks to the other druids."

Merlin laughed bashfully. "Only when they ask," he said, but then a look of realization came to him. "Which is quite often, actually."

"Well, you're kinda a rock star to them."

"No! I just think they're keen to learn the ways of the Old Religion, Yasmin especially."

"Yeah, sure, dude. You have groupies. Just like Arthur does."

Merlin smirked as he directed his attention back to Arthur, but then he saw another flash of movement in his peripheral vision. On the edge of the grounds, right before the pathway led into the gardens, about a dozen people appeared out of thin air. Suddenly, nearly a dozen more joined them.

Sam must have seen it, too, because his expression was set and he jumped up. He pulled out his dagger as Merlin also scrambled to his feet. They hadn't been the only ones who noticed the newcomers, either. On either side of the pathway, both Dean and Arthur were on high alert, and their soldiers broke into a new defensive formation.

However, from the center of the group of newcomers, a teenage boy made his way to the front and held up his palms as though he meant no harm. He said something that Merlin couldn't quite hear, so he and Sam rushed down the walkway to be level with where Dean and Arthur were standing.

"If you're not demons, what are you?" Arthur was asking.

The teenager answered, "My name is Ambriel. Castiel sought me out, and I've brought reinforcements." He gestured to the group behind him.

"You're an angel?" Sam asked, and Merlin noticed Dean eyeing him warily. Merlin couldn't help staring at Sam out of the corner of his eyes, either. He felt like he was holding in a breath.

"Ambriel!" someone shouted from behind them, and Castiel soon pushed passed Sam and Merlin to greet the young angel.

"Castiel," Ambriel said with reverence as Cas approached.

"I was beginning to lose faith."

"Forgive me, brother," Ambriel said. "I searched everywhere for help." He looked over his shoulder, seeming apologetic and timid. "These are all I could find."

Cas looked behind Ambriel at the other angels, and a wide grin spread across his face. He looked like he hadn't expected such a large turnout.

"It is _more_ than enough," he told Ambriel thankfully, which seemed to please Ambriel very much. Castiel turned around and said, "These are my friends: Arthur, Merlin, and—"

"Dean and Sam Winchester," Ambriel finished for him, looking at both of them in turn. He walked forward and held out his hand to Sam. Sam looked down at it like he didn't quite understand what it was for.

"I believe it's customary to shake hands on Earth?" Ambriel asked. Sam nodded and took the angel's hand in his own.

Both Merlin and Dean watched the exchange tensely but, when the handshake broke, Ambriel's face remained pleasant. Merlin met Dean's eyes again and let out the breath he'd been holding.

* * *

Sam, Dean, and Cas tried to keep the fact of there being angels in the castle under wraps as much as possible. They didn't want to spread panic or cause any more religious debates, but those who had been present during Ambriel's arrival told anyone who would listen. Most people brushed them off, which was a good thing, but it made Sam wonder why people were so accepting of demons walking amongst them, but not angels. He guessed that was a philosophical debate for another time, and he didn't have the hours to ponder it between training and excursions.

About a week after the angels' appearance, Sam and Dean arrived back at the castle after another trip to the midlands. There, they'd met up with a group of people that Dean was eager to inform Arthur about.

The Winchesters stood outside the door to Arthur's chambers and Dean gave it a musical knock. Moments later, high pitched giggling emitted from inside, causing Sam and Dean to share a look between them. It sounded like multiple girls were on the other side of the room, and Sam was all for walking away and never speaking of this again, but then the door opened.

Four teenagers, three girls and boy, scurried out, all of them holding loose pieces of paper in their hands and laughing giddily to one another as they compared what was written and disappeared down the corridor. After sharing another look, Dean and Sam pushed inside the room to a flustered looking Arthur.

"Somethin' kinky happenin' here?" Dean asked with a sideways smile, pointing his thumb behind him at the door.

Arthur looked confused by his words. "What? No, I—They asked me to write my name on blank pages," he said like the notion was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Sam had to stifle a laugh. "I have no idea why. People have been coming up to me asking for that as of late."

"They wanted your _autograph_?" Dean asked, sounded amused.

Arthur looked even more lost. "What does that mean?"

"It means you got fangirls," Dean mocked. "They're probably writin' porn about'cha right now."

Immediately, Arthur's eyes went wide. "_What_?" he shouted. "Tell them to stop!"

Dean was enjoying this way too much. "Can't."

"Yeah, trust me, me and Dean have been there," Sam said, biting back a chuckle in attempt to make the situation seem more dire. "You just have to accept it."

Arthur placed his hands on his hips, looking distraught, but he nodded after a moment. "Very well," he said. "What news do you bring?"

"We got something better than news," Dean said. "We got people—more military guys."

"British forces?" Arthur asked attentively.

"Not exactly," Sam said. He and Dean walked across the room to the back door that led to the drawing room, where they'd set up the group. "They're in here. Come on."

On the other side of the door, Sherlock and the Doctor sat at the table, watching a handful of rowdy men and women chat in the center of the room. However, they stopped talking as soon as they saw Arthur and the Winchesters. One man, broad and brunette, stepped to the front of the group and said in an accent from the American South, "Arthur Pendragon? Name's Sergeant Davis of the US Army. These fellas here tell me you're the man to talk to."

Arthur blinked at him for a moment before saying, "I am. You're American soldiers?"

"Yessir."

"I wasn't aware America was coming to our aid," Sherlock said, and the Doctor shot him a sidelong look.

"You know it's not that simple," the Doctor said. "Sending in troops would start a war."

"That's right," Davis said, and he didn't look too offended either way. "But I'm afraid I can't give you too much intel on that. We've been stranded here for months."

"Remember those planes we saw way back when?" Dean reminded Arthur.

"Of course," Arthur recalled. "You were flying to London in the days after the attack."

Davis nodded. "London and other cities. My squad was set en route to Edinburgh for the American Embassy there. It was a search and rescue mission—get the Americans out and fly back home. We weren't counting on supernatural forces at work."

"And you've had communication with the States since?" Arthur asked.

"No, sir. We lost radio contact about twenty miles outta Edinburgh, but we decided to keep on target and land. Lost a few good men that day, and a few more since. Word is, you're looking to fight back and, well—"

He looked behind him, scanning the faces of his squad. They nodded in solidarity, so Davis turned back to Arthur with a handsome smile.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say we'd really like to get back home."

"Then, you're more than welcome," Arthur told them gratefully. "Go down to the bailey. One of the soldiers on watch will find you living quarters."

"Yessir," Davis said, and he and his squad filed out of the room.

Dean and Sam were just about to follow them out when Arthur called them back.

"We—," he nodded to Sherlock and the Doctor, "—along with John, Kate, and Yasmin have been drawing up strategies for our attack against Morgana."

Sam's brows darted upward. "Really? Already?"

"I believe the people are almost ready," Arthur told them. "We promised them a battle, and this is the one that will win the war. We need tactics for it."

"Well, what are ya thinkin'?" Dean asked, stepping over to the maps on the table. Sam followed after him. Meanwhile, Arthur was shuffling the maps until one of London was on top.

"We plan to contain the fight to Central London, where Morgana's operation is concentrated, and a few other key locations," he said.

"Yeah, and Gwen told me and Clara most civilians moved away from City Center," Dean remembered.

"Exactly," Arthur agreed. He looked back down at the map and ran his finger along it as he spoke. "John and his company will be the first into the city. We have enough merchants working with us to smuggle them into London. From there, he'll lead them to St. Paul's. That will be our medical station."

"Good idea," Sam praised. "Demons aren't gonna set foot into a church."

"It's hallowed ground," Sherlock interjected, and Sam realized it must have been his idea in the first place.

Arthur continued on, "The rest us will need to get through the checkpoints. Those are located on the M1, four, and twenty-three. The rest of the motorways are blocked off, so we can't use them. Kate will lead a number of UNIT soldiers to clear the checkpoint on the M1, and Yasmin and the druids will take the M4. We have a rebel group from Canterbury taking the M23.

"Those attacks have to be simultaneous, and the rest of us have to be standing by at that point. The moment those checkpoints fall, Morgana will be alerted to our attack, so we must be ready," he said clearly. "From there, Kate will move to the Tower of London. The druids will make their way to Piccadilly."

Arthur pressed his finger over Westminster on the map and continued, "Dean, you and Castiel will lead a group to Parliament. It's paramount we win back that area. Sam, you'll be stationed in Trafalgar Square. Between you is Whitehall. Ensure you send men along that strip. It'll allow us to capture Downing Street."

"Got it," Sam and Dean said in perfect synchronization.

"And where are you gonna be?" Dean asked.

Arthur moved his finger to a patch of green. "St. James' Park," he said pointedly.

"Buckingham Palace," Sherlock interpreted.

"That's where Morgana will be," the Doctor said.

"And where her strongest soldiers will be," Arthur told them. "Gwen will accompany me. Once we take the Palace and capture my sister, the war is over. I'm ending this once and for all."

"And what if she finds you first?" Sherlock posed.

"Tell her to come," Arthur challenged. "I'll be the one wearing red."

Dean nodded, and Sam could see the gears turning behind his eyes. "Sounds like fun," he said at last. Sam agreed.

"Actually, while we're scheming, I've been coming up with a plan of my own," the Doctor said, leaning forward to gain everyone's attention. "I think I have a way to save some people instead of massacring all the vessels."

"I'm open to suggestion," Arthur told him. "What is it?"

"Exorcism," the Doctor revealed like it was a groundbreaking idea.

Everyone's face remained neutral and unimpressed.

"You know how long that takes?" Dean finally broke the silence. "One or two demons, fine—but an army?"

"Not if we get them all at once," the Doctor told him, making Dean tilt his head in puzzlement.

"A mass exorcism?" Sam inquired.

"Is that possible?" Arthur posed to Sam and Dean.

However, before they could answer, the Doctor said, "If you do it right."

"What do you need?" asked Arthur.

The Doctor sat back again and crossed his legs, looking pleased with himself. "For starters, safe passage through the city. I'll need to slip under the radar."

"My homeless network can provide that," Sherlock offered.

"Your _what_?" asked Dean, but he was ignored.

"The next time the merchants have to reload in London, I will accompany them and get in touch with my contacts."

The Doctor snapped his fingers and pointed at Sherlock in thanks. Then he turned back to Arthur. "One more thing. Electricity."

"Then, your plan won't work," Arthur told him, sounding impatient. "We don't have any."

"We did for the broadcasts," Sam reminded him. "That means the grids work. Morgana's just keeping them off. She wants to bring us back to the Dark Ages."

"Not her, though," Dean said, his eyes lighting up. "Buckingham's got power. Everyone was on computers when I was inside."

"But we don't know if it's citywide," Arthur said, "and there hasn't been a broadcast for months. I doubt she'll start again now."

"Yes, but we don't need that if all we have to do is flip a switch," Sherlock said. "The power station in London is located at Battersea on the other side of the Thames from where we'll be. You already said the group from Canterbury will be coming from that direction off the M23. If they take the power station, the Doctor's plan will work."

Arthur seemed to consider this before saying, "Then, that's what we'll do."

"Great," Dean said. "So when's this all goin' down?"

"To get John's men inside, we need to strike on a day when enough merchants are scheduled for pickup in London," Arthur answered. "But we aren't ready for that yet. London is our first priority, but it should be our last move. We have to work on liberating the other major cities first. Our allies already have control of Cardiff, Manchester, Aberdeen, Dublin, and Cork so far, but it isn't enough."

"Then, we better get to it," Sam said, and he and Dean took that as their cue to leave.

However, Dean seemed to remember something before they reached the door. He turned around and said to the Doctor, "Oh, hey, by the way. I ran into someone during me and Sam's last run. Said he knew you. Told me to say hi, and that he wished he could stop by but him and the missus were takin' the fight to Northern Ireland."

The Doctor knitted his brows together in wonder. "What was his name?"

"Ah, I don't remember," Dean admitted, searching his mind. "Ricky or somethin'."

That must have meant something to the Doctor. A fond, warm smile spread across his features, and he looked down at the table as though in memory.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two.**

The silver light of the full moon flooded the grounds outside the castle, and the stars shined through the void without any obstruction or light pollution. Merlin remembered a time when this was the norm: no electricity to fade out the stars, no smog blocking the moon. Just all the eyes of the world looking up, unaware of how vastly the universe expanded above their heads.

He found the Doctor standing on the path, staring up at sky like he knew precisely how far it stretched.

The castle behind them was quieting down, and only muffled noises could be heard from inside the walls. Perhaps the Doctor sought out this solace, but Merlin knew he wouldn't see his company as an intrusion. If anything, they could always be alone together.

Merlin stopped at his side, catching the Doctor's attention immediately. He looked down at the two items in either of Merlin's hands: a chipped teacup in one and a bottle of cider in the other. A grin spread upon his features when Merlin offered him the former, and the Doctor took the delicate glass gingerly.

"I believe it's my turn to pay," Merlin joked as the Doctor stuck out his pinky finger and took the smallest of sips of his tea.

"I rather think it is," he agreed, placing it back on its saucer in his other hand. As Merlin took a swig of his cider, the Doctor continued, "But, whenever we do this, it's usually accompanied by a chat. Something on your mind, Merlin?"

Merlin looked down at his shoes and kicked at some of the dewy grass.

"It's Arthur," he began. "He plans to go back to Avalon after this is over."

The Doctor turned his eyes upward again. "I figured he'd want that."

"I'm going with him."

Merlin said it like he was ripping off a band-aid, and the Doctor's eyes were large when they shot over to him. They searched Merlin's features desperately, and the expression made Merlin doubt what he'd said.

"Or maybe I'm not," he admitted. He gave a humorless laugh. "I'm not sure yet. Arthur said I didn't have to. He said I could stay if I wanted—to keep on living without him. At first, I thought he was being selfish, but he wasn't at all. Quite the opposite, actually. I was the one being selfish for wanting him to stay."

He looked back down at his shoes, but no longer to avoid the Doctor's gaze. It was in consideration.

"Arthur's been trying hard to not treat me like he did in Camelot. He treats me like an equal now, so he's giving me this choice." He bit his lower lip and shook his head at the bottle in his fist. "It's a difficult decision, Doctor. It's funny—once upon a time, it would have been an easy one, but now . . . But it's mine."

He couldn't help but smile at his own words, feeling lucky to have said them.

"For the first time, it isn't Arthur's or my destiny's. It's _my_ choice."

"And you're still not certain?" the Doctor asked carefully.

"Not at all," Merlin confessed. "But I fear that, if I don't go with Arthur, I'll never get the chance again." To this, the Doctor looked perplexed, so Merlin explained, "I still can't die, Doctor. Even though Arthur's back. I know because I _did_ die—in Warwickshire. I died, and yet here I am. Avalon won't take me without him, and I don't know what's to become of me if I don't join him."

"Well," the Doctor said, "there'll always be a place for you in the Tardis."

Merlin heard the true meaning behind those words, and he looked at the Doctor in gratitude. The Doctor, however, looked guarded, like Merlin knew he would be. There were things the Doctor would not allow himself to say, even though he couldn't stop the thoughts from spinning through his mind. Those thoughts were ghosts that would haunt him long beyond their death. Merlin knew the feeling well.

He did not expect the Doctor to voice those thoughts, even when standing on what could be the end.

"Or maybe there won't be," the Doctor said on a second thought. "I think my time is coming to an end, very soon." He stared solemnly down at the grass poking out from beneath his shoes. Against the glow of the moon, he looked young, afraid.

"Why would you say that?" asked Merlin, unable to control the faint surge of his own, forgotten youth that struck him.

"It's complicated," was the response.

Merlin gave a half-laugh. "_Nothing's_ complicated."

"Yeah, but some things are less simple than others," the Doctor countered, and Merlin quirked his brow, unable to argue.

"It's because of the Silence, isn't it?" Merlin wondered, remember what the Doctor had told him on their first night in the forest, which seemed like ages ago. "What question are they meant to ask?"

The Doctor let out a huff, making the cold air cascade around him as a reminder that he was still warm and breathing.

"Oh, a very old question," he said vaguely. "One I'm not quite sure I know the answer to anymore." He pushed a smile. "I guess I should figure it out."

There was a time when Merlin believed the Doctor would always be. He could not die or change or both. Merlin was once told he was forged from the elements: the sky, the sea, the land; but the Doctor was made of stardust and the fire of a thousand suns. When he was young, Merlin always believed the Doctor would remain, as he always had been to Merlin, the same as he stood. There was a time when Merlin felt comforted by that, but it had long passed. The hero worship had faded, brought into demise by the knowledge that, ultimately, everything physical went away. There was no exception. Eventually, he found a different kind of solace in that fact.

However, it didn't mean those whose time had passed were gone for good.

"Whatever it is," he told the Doctor, "you're not nearing your end."

And now the Doctor laughed, mirthlessly.

"You sound sure."

"I am." Merlin looked up at the pinpricks of light scattering the black canopy above them. "The mark of a man is not his body. If you take away his face, he will still remain. What matters is the story a person leaves behind. Whether they're a king, a great adventurer, a soldier, a farmer . . . We all leave behind traces. Look up, Doctor. You've left your trace on every star in the sky: I can feel your presence. We all can."

The Doctor tilted his chin upward, following Merlin's gaze.

"You may be mortal, but you are endless."

When he looked over, Merlin noticed faint lines of a genuine smile etching the Doctor's face as he continued to stare upwards.

"And what happens when the endless comes to an end?" he asked in a small voice.

"Then it knows it's time," Merlin answered. "I think that time is coming for both of us."

The Doctor nodded slowly, considering.

"Yeah . . . The Time Lord and the immortal sorcerer. And all the years we've had, but there's never enough—not really," the Doctor groaned. "Looks like not even we can control time."

"That might be for the best," Merlin reminded him, and the Doctor seemed to accept it.

"You're probably right," he said.

"I'm always right," said Merlin lightly.

"Ah, not so fast!" the Doctor teased, nudging Merlin's shoulder with his own and eliciting a chuckle. "I still remember that hardheaded boy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Merlin laughed.

"Oh, come on! It wasn't _that_ long ago," the Doctor insisted.

Merlin mocked offence. "That's insensitive."

There was a beat as they regarded one another, and their smiles slowly faded, leaving mirrored expressions and eyes too old. Both looking away, they took another sip of their drinks.

* * *

Personally, Dean didn't care about seeing Sherlock off, but he found himself standing in the car park on that morning anyway. He was standing next to Clara, who was holding a small map of Central London up to Sherlock, while a few merchants loaded up their trucks a few feet away. Helping them was Sam, Yasmin, and Gwen.

"The Doctor says it's important these areas are easy to get through," Clara was saying to Sherlock. As she spoke, she ran her finger along the markings and lines the Doctor had drawn on the map. "Like, here—around the Eye and the Aquarium. He told me to tell you to tell your homeless network to clear pathways along the river, especially. But there are also places up by Piccadilly and—"

"Yes, he's marked it clearly," Sherlock interrupted, making Clara drop her shoulders and huff impatiently at him.

"I'm just making sure," she said as she began folding up the map. "We need this to run smoothly." Once she was done folding, she offered it to him. He raised a brow down at it and kept his arms folded behind his back.

"Take it," she said, redoubling her offer.

"Why?"

"So you'll know what the Doctor wants."

"I told you, he's marked it clearly."

"What, and you just memorized that after looking at it for two seconds?" Dean asked, sounding unimpressed.

"Yes," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "I've memorized every street in London—every underground railroad, every alleyway. I know the best possible routes for the Doctor's plan to _run smoothly_."

"Alright, but your network doesn't," Clara told him, poking the map into his chest. "You can give it to one of them for reference."

Sherlock let out a sigh, like reaching up and relieving her of the map was one great ordeal, but he did it, and she smirked and bounced happily at him.

At that moment, Sam, Yasmin, and Gwen appeared next to them.

"They're all set to leave," Gwen reported to Sherlock. "Sorry I couldn't take you in myself."

"That would be reckless now that Morgana knows your face," Sherlock reminded her.

"Which is why I'm steering clear of London for the time being."

"Yeah, but she knows Sherlock's face, too," Sam said.

"I thought Merlin gave you that potion?" asked Clara.

"He did," Sherlock told her quickly and placed a hand over one of his coat pockets. "I have it here. I'll drink it on the way."

"Then, you'd better be off," Gwen said, nodding towards the trucks. "Good luck."

Sherlock inclined his head in a goodbye and then strode off towards the vehicles. Momentarily, they all drove out of the parking lot and towards the country road, leaving just a few men behind to collect the empty crates and boxes.

However, as those trucks left, another car pulled into the lot. It was a small, beat up sedan with chipped maroon paint and tinted windows.

"Who the hell is that now?" Dean thought aloud, not recognizing the car. No one answered, but they all watched the car with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

It parked in an empty spot and, soon, the back door opened to reveal a tall woman with sweeping red hair. Out of the front passenger seat appeared a man of about twenty and another man, this one middle-aged with a graying beard, stood out of the drivers seat.

Yasmin took in a sharp inhale that caused Dean to turn his head quickly toward her. However, she was gone from next to him in an instant and rushing towards the newcomers.

"Emily!" she called, and the redheaded woman looked up sharply in Yasmin's direction. A breathless smile spread onto her face as she dropped the bag she was taking out of the car and ran to meet Yasmin. When they reached each other, they held one another in a tight embrace before Yasmin swept her into a long kiss.

Dean jerked his head back at the sight, and then he caught Sam's eyes with a shrug.

Next, Yasmin hugged the two men, and then she led the three newcomers, hand-in-hand with Emily, back to the group.

"I'm guessin' you know these people," Dean said.

"This is the last of my order," Yasmin told them. She gestured to the bearded man and said, "This is our leader, Marcus, and his son, Daniel." Then she beamed at the other woman. "And this is Emily."

"Well, it's good to have you guys," Sam said, leaning forward to shake hands with each of them in turn.

"We came as soon as we got word," Marcus said. "After what happened in Winchester, our order became severely scattered. The three of us had no choice but to escape."

"We've been hiding out in the Scottish Highlands for months," Daniel added. "It's good to see other people."

Before they could explain further, Merlin broke through the group, out of breath like he'd just sprinted from the castle to the car park.

"Don't tell me Sherlock's gone?" he panted.

"Yeah, just missed 'im, chief," said Dean.

To this, Merlin let out a frustrated, exaggerated groan that made the three druids regard him with perplexed expressions.

"I told him not to leave without this!" Merlin shouted, wildly brandishing a vial of a clear potion. "But does he ever listen to me? No. Naturally. Does anyone _ever_ listen to me?"

"He said he'd already taken it!" Clara told him with alarm. "Why would he not take it?"

"Look, it's fine," Sam said, trying to calm everyone down. "He knows his way around. He won't get caught, alright?"

"Yeah, he's just trying to show off," Dean agreed as the workmen carrying the crates moved passed them.

Clara took a relieved breath. "You're right. And at least he still has the map."

One of the workmen stopped next to the group and said to Clara, "Excuse me, ma'am? Before he left, Mr. Holmes told me to give you this." He reached into his pocket and held the folded map between two fingers, offering it to her.

She looked down at it blankly before slowly taking it from the man with both hands.

"Dean? Remind me to throttle Sherlock when he gets back."

"I've been holdin' that need in for months, sweetheart," said Dean.

"You'll have to get in line," Merlin told them.

"Alright, why don't I just—," Gwen said, leaning forward and plucking the map from Clara's hands and the vial from Merlin's, "—take these and we'll save them for a rainy day? No throttling required." With both items in hand, she started for the castle.

"Anyway," Yasmin said, getting back on track after the interruption. She looked at Merlin and said, "I was just saying, these are the final three members of my order."

"Oh," Merlin said, perking up a little. "I'd better tell Arthur."

Emily's eyes lit up with excitement. "_You_ know Arthur? What's he like? Is he brilliant?"

Merlin wrinkled his nose. "Bit of a tosser, really," he joked, but Emily didn't see it that way. She gasped, scandalized.

"No! He can't be! How could you—? No!" She seemed to get angrier with every word. "Who do you think you are saying something like that?"

Merlin didn't look particularly offended, but Yasmin cleared her throat and said, "Emily. This is Emrys."

Emily looked mortified and she quickly started to stammer indistinct words of apology. Marcus and Daniel began to speak over one another, too, and they both leaned in quickly to shake his hand in exuberance.

"Okay—yes!" Merlin had to shout over them. They all stopped talking, but continued to moon at him in a way that made Merlin visibly uncomfortable. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the castle. "Why don't we find Arthur, shall we?"

They all began speaking again at once, and Merlin hardly waited for them to stop to turn around and lead them forward. Yasmin went with them.

"I think I'll go, too," said Clara.

"Why? You wanna stop them from stealing a lock of his hair?" Dean teased.

"No, I want to take pictures," she joked back, already walking backwards in the direction of the gate. "I'll catch up with you later." She gave another grin before spinning around and springing after them.

Dean watched her go with a soft smile until Sam brought him back to Earth by clearing his throat.

"What?" Dean asked, noticing the amused look on Sam's face.

"Nothin'," he said. "It's just, uh—you two seem pretty close. Am I gonna get a _save the date_ invitation in the mail soon?"

Dean rolled his eyes and started walking away from the parking lot. Sam kept in stride.

"Yeah, so what?" Dean said, sounding a little hostile. "You and Merlin are pretty close. Are you in a _Twilight_ love triangle yet? Lemme guess—you're Jacob. Arthur's Edward."

"It scares me that you know that much about _Twilight_, Dean."

When Dean didn't answer, Sam stopped walking abruptly and grabbed at Dean's arm, forcing him to turn around.

"Dude, come on. Why can't you just admit that you like her? She's obviously nuts about you."

The conversation made Dean more defensive than it should have. "What do you want me to say, Sam? That I get little hearts in my eyes and butterflies in my tummy whenever I see her? Or—or that I have a diary filled with _Mr. Dean Oswald_ doodles?"

Sam puckered his lips at Dean impatiently.

"It'd never work, Sam! I know that. She knows that—"

"How do you know?" Sam argued. "She told you that?"

"Of course not! But she's got her thing with the Doc," Dean said in ways of an excuse. "And I've got—"

"What? What do you have, Dean?" Sam challenged. "A six pack of beer in the bunker? Chasing after Abaddon?"

Dean stayed silent for a moment, his jaw tense as he stared Sam down.

"You really think I'd just _leave_ you and Kevin?"

"_No_, Dean," Sam said, sounding genuine now. "I'm not telling you to walk out, but you and Clara deserve to be happy, too. I mean, if it means anything, I think she's perfect for you. If there's any way you two could make it work, you should."

Dean went quiet again, but for a different reason. He looked down at the path under his feet with a tight smile that might as well have been a grimace. He wondered if Sam had a point. Soon, he let out a deep exhale. Sam was wrong. There was no way it could work.

"Yeah, maybe in a different life," he thought aloud.

"Well, I guess you're in luck, then," Sam said. "According to the Doc, she's got plenty of those."

"That's not good enough," Dean answered immediately, feeling himself getting heated again.

"Why not?"

"Because they wouldn't be _exactly_ her!"

Sam leaned back and dropped his shoulders, looking as though he'd finally gotten the answer he wanted. Dean guessed he did. That was pretty much admitting he had feelings for her.

"We're done talkin' about this, Sam."

"Dean—"

"We're done."

Dean turned away from him, leaving Sam standing alone on the walkway.

* * *

Later that day, Merlin walked into the kitchen, which a few of the others already occupied. The Doctor leisurely leaned over the counter, his arms crossed beneath him. Next to him, Clara sat on a high stool eating an apple. John was standing over the sink, munching on a piece of bread.

All their eyes were on Dean and Sam, who were standing next to the opened pantry, arguing over the last bag of crisps. They were in Dean's hand, his arm outstretched behind him, as far away from Sam as he could get it. Each time Sam tried to lunge forward and snatch it, Dean would take a step back, putting it just out of reach.

"Because I'm older," Dean was arguing his point. "And you always got the last bag when we were kids."

"Dean, that was like twenty years ago," Sam said back. "And you don't even like salt and vinegar!"

"It's the principle!"

Suddenly, the package of crisps zoomed out of Dean's fist. He gasped in confusion and spun around, looking at the bag that was now held up by Merlin. Merlin brandished it teasingly at him.

"Magic is cheating," Dean told him, outraged.

Sam, however, was laughing and holding up his hands as though ready to catch a football.

"Dude!" he called to Merlin, who tossed the bag underhand to Sam. He caught it seamlessly.

"_Dude_!" Dean shouted at Merlin, agitated.

Sam tossed it back to Merlin as Dean spun around to face his brother, and they continued to play a game of monkey in the middle, much to everyone's amusement except Dean's.

Merlin caught the bag again, using magic to make it fly around Dean's head when the older Winchester attempted to intercept the toss. However, he was not prepared for Dean to charge at him and tackle him to the floor. Merlin raised his arm and held the bag out of Dean's reach as they struggled on the tiles.

Sam doubled over with laughter, and Merlin felt his strength leaving him as he, too, shook with mirth. Even Dean was laughing now.

Above Merlin and Dean's heads, the kitchen door swung open, and the skirmish came to a dead standstill as they looked up at Arthur's incredulous expression. The others stopped their chuckling, too, all looking like children who had just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Dean and Merlin scrambled to their feet before Arthur, who was raising his brows at them.

"Hey," Merlin said with an innocent smile.

Like lightening, Dean reached down and snatched the bag from Merlin's slackened grip; and he popped it opened and started chomping. He offered the bag to Arthur.

"Chip?"

"No," said Arthur slowly. "Thank you." He pushed towards the pantry. "One of the mothers has asked for a can of beans for their children. I take it we have one to spare?" He looked back to Merlin and Dean disapprovingly. "Or have you used it for a game of rugby?"

He found the can nonetheless.

"Actually, we were gonna use it for cricket," Dean said smartly.

"How exactly do you use a can in cricket?" Clara chided from her place at the counter.

"I have no idea," Dean admitted, not seeming ashamed at all. "What even is cricket, anyway?"

While Dean was distracted, Arthur walked passed him on his way back out of the kitchen. Coolly, he plucked the packet of crisps from Dean's loose fist and continued to the door.

"Oh, _come on_!" Dean shouted when he realized what happened.

Arthur placed his back against the door as he pushed out of it and shot Dean a humored look. Then he was gone.

Sam started laughing again, and Dean bristled in acceptance.

"Don't even like salt and vinegar anyway," he muttered as he picked something else out of the pantry.

Merlin managed to steal a granola bar for lunch, the reason he came into the kitchen in the first place, before leaving the others to their teasing. He barely left the kitchen when he heard his name being called from down the corridor—or at least one of his names.

"Emrys!" Yasmin had said, grabbing his attention from over his shoulder. He turned around to face her and waited until she caught up with him.

"I hope this isn't a bad time," she said. "But I wanted to ask you a question."

"Ask away," he said, gesturing for her to walk with him.

"I've noticed you don't use incantations. From what I've studied about the Old Religion, I know most sorcerers would have to verbalize their spells in order for them to work. How did you find your way around that?"

Merlin noshed on his food, considering his answer. In truth, he didn't have one. There wasn't any secret algorithm and he certainly didn't just wake up one day with the ability. He found himself shrugging.

"Lots of practice," he said honestly, aware that must have been a disappointing answer. "When you've had to hide your magic for as long as I have, you evolve in a way or two."

"Well . . ." she began, trying not to look too eager. "If it can be applied to the Wicca, I'd love to learn. Do you have any tips? Like you say, it would come in handy."

He stopped walking to look at her directly, and she followed his motion with enthusiasm in her eyes.

"I don't know much about the Wicca, Yasmin, I'm sorry," he said, and she seemed let down.

"Alright," she said, accepting it but not looking him in the eyes. "Thank you, Emrys." When she started to walk away, Merlin made a quick decision and called her back.

"I have something for you," he said, causing her to perk up a little. "Come with me."

Turning back in the opposite direction, he led her in silence down a few corridors and up the grand staircase in the entry hall until they reached his chambers. She stood in the doorway a little awkwardly while he placed his granola bar between his teeth to free up his hands. He dug through the crumpled clothing in the drawers of his dresser until he found what he was looking for: his old spell book.

Still with his back to her, he gazed down at the ancient book in a private moment. He ran his fingers down its spine, feeling the familiar grooves of its leather. Then, abandoning his lunch on the dresser, he turned to Yasmin and held it out for her.

"What is it?" she asked with interest as they met in the middle of the room. He offered it to her and she relieved it from him delicately. She rested the spine on her arm and opened it to the first page.

"It's a book of magic," he told her, "of the Old Religion. It taught me everything I know—well, I've translated it, but it's still the same."

She continued gingerly flipping through the pages in wonderment.

"The original was given to me when I a boy," he went on, remembering that day. "I want you to have it."

Her gaze was a mixture of panic and excitement when it shot up to him.

"No, I couldn't!" she insisted quickly. "It means too much."

He shook his head into a deep chuckle. "I know every line. _Please_, it's yours." He eyed the book one last time, feeling a pit in his stomach. "I don't think I'll be needing it anymore."

When his eyes flashed up again, Yasmin was gleefully beaming. She held the book as though it were the most precious thing in the world.

"Thank you, Emrys!" she cried happily. "I will study every page!"

He nodded. "I know."

After thanking him again, she hardly took her eyes off the page the book was opened to as she shuffled out the door. Merlin kept his eyes on the empty space for a long moment. He didn't regret the choice, but it sat heavily on his heart. Somewhere along the line, that book had become a piece of him. It felt strange giving it away, like walking around with the perpetual sensation of forgetting something you can't quite place.

But the feeling soon passed, and he knew he'd made that right decision. He moved back to the dresser to finish his lunch.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three.**

Arthur stood at the head of the table, staring fixedly down at the maps and papers scattered about the wood. Right beneath him were the reports from the other camps that had come in that day. It was dark outside the windows of the drawing room, and the only light surrounding them was the warm glow of the cackling fire behind him.

Merlin stood next to the hearth, keeping quiet despite everything Arthur knew he had to say. Around the table stood the Doctor, Sherlock, John, and Clara on one side and Kate, Yasmin, Gwen, and Castiel on the other. The Winchesters stood at the end closest to the door, and all the eyes in the room were on Arthur. He could feel them on him—waiting for an answer. Waiting to find out their next move.

He could practically hear all their individual thoughts like they were screaming.

"What about Winchester?" he asked.

"It's a ghost town," Dean said. "Everyone left after the quarantine and all the Croats got picked off. No people, no demons."

"It's no use sending in troops," Sam added.

Arthur nodded in acceptance despite the pull he felt in his chest.

"But look at the report," Yasmin said, nodding down to the paper. "Edinburgh was taken yesterday, and Birmingham last week. That's the last of the major cities. They're all ours now."

"Not to mention, we have control of Chelmsford and Maidstone," said John. "That close to London is a slap in the face to the Committee."

"Point is, we got every city except the big one," Dean said.

"You promised people a fight and they came," the Doctor agreed.

"And the castle is running out of room," Clara reminded him. "We can't keep sitting here."

"I agree. We have neither the space nor the resources," said Sherlock. "It's not just fighters: they've brought their families, doctors and seamstresses and the like."

"And there's a reload scheduled in London tomorrow, Arthur," Gwen said.

"I know," Arthur said, crossing his arms thoughtfully as he began to pace. He stopped to look at John. "What do you think? Are the soldiers prepared for battle?"

John considered this for a moment. "They've been training for months. They're not half bad," he vouched for them. "I can't speak for the newcomers, but they seem willing enough. And it helps that we've got military on our side."

"And UNIT is more than prepared," Kate added. "We've loaded all our guns with your bullets, and we've lent armor to as many of your soldiers as we could."

"In our camp alone, Morgana's forces still outweigh us nearly three to one," Arthur said dejectedly.

"Yeah, man, but we can send a few people out now to spread the message to other camps. Tell them when to converge on London. I think that's our best bet," Dean said. "I mean, hell, the weapons are ready, people brought more cars . . . This is as good as it's gonna get. It's now or never."

"I'm certain there will be other skirmishes, not just in London alone," Cas said. "Those who can't make it to us will continue to fight elsewhere."

Arthur dropped his shoulders, now looking at the Doctor. "And what of your plan?" he asked. "Is it ready to be executed."

The Doctor nodded. "Just a few last minute touch-ups and we'll be rearing to go," he said lightly. "And Sherlock's offered to help me. He'll head in with John's group and make his way up and down the Thames, from Parliament to the Tower of London. I'll take the route from Knightsbridge to Strand."

Arthur turned around to the fire, to Merlin, who had been quiet this whole time.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Arthur asked of him.

"All the pieces are in place," Merlin said simply. "This is your opportunity."

Arthur took a breath, feeling a little steadier for it.

"It's _our_ opportunity," he correcting, turning back to the group. "You all know the risks. Many of us could die."

"Well, who amongst us hasn't died at least once?" Sherlock said, crossing his arms behind his back.

Next to him, John opened his mouth as though to object, and raising his pointed finger into the air.

"Put your hand down, John, you look ridiculous," Sherlock said dryly, and John lowered his finger.

"Very well," Arthur decided. He scanned all their faces until his eyes fell on Dean and Sam. "Deploy some messengers to spread the word of battle, and ready the troops. We leave at sundown tomorrow."

When they all filed out the door, Arthur walked over to the fireplace rested his arm against the stone hearth. He placed his head on top of it and closed his eyes. The darkness was tinted orange behind his eyelids, and it calmed him slightly. He attempted to clear his mind, but his thoughts continued to tumble.

"You're nervous," said a voice from behind him. He opened his eyes and peered behind him at Gwen, still standing in the doorway. He hadn't noticed her stay.

He let out a breath, squaring himself. "Not for myself," he admitted. "I'm sending many to their death tomorrow."

"But you're sending even more to victory," Gwen told him, walking further into the room until she was at his side.

"You seem sure."

"I am. These people are ready to fight, Arthur, you know that. They have hope."

He shook his head unsurely at the flames, and he could feel her eyes searching him for a long moment.

"You know, Arthur, the people have a name for you," she said, drawing his attention away from the fire and back to her face. "They're calling you the Light."

Arthur wrinkled his nose in consideration. "Why?"

Gwen snorted out a laugh. "Are you kidding? Do you know how dangerous it is to say the name Arthur Pendragon? We needed a code—some way to talk about you throughout the country, but the demons have caught on, we're sure. You never know who's listening. But that's still how the people refer to you. Arthur Pendragon. They saw you're going to save us all."

She paced closer, and touched a hand to his arm.

"Don't doubt them, or yourself," she told him. "They all love you, and they believe in you. They will go into battle if it comes to that because they have in faith in what you say to them. They're not just fighting for their lives, Arthur; they're fighting for you. You give them courage."

Her words were kind and gentle, but there was also something wise and strong in her tone; and, for moment as Arthur looked at her, he didn't see her face at all. He saw someone else's.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked unsurely after a beat, withdrawing her hand.

"It's nothing," Arthur said, shaking away the reverie and looking back down at the hearth. "You just reminded me of someone."

She looked away as though she knew not to ask questions about a ghost.

"Get some sleep," she said instead. "Big day tomorrow."

She did not look back as she walked from the room, but he watched her until she disappeared.

* * *

The morning sun lit up the bailey as the Doctor kicked his legs as they hung over edge of the wall-walk. He was fiddling with the sonic screwdriver and a small device that looked like part of the Tardis when Merlin found him and sat down next to him. They sat in silence, save for the whizzing of the sonic screwdriver, as Merlin watched the people below. He could hear their muffled and hushed whispers, no doubt talking about the day to come. They were terrified, and Merlin could not blame them for that, but they were also brave.

But Merlin had more pressing things on his mind, and apparently the Doctor could read those thoughts, because he said, "Something the matter, Merlin?"

Merlin gulped, still looking down at the people. "Yes," he admitted after a beat.

The Doctor held the gadget in his hands up to the light of the sun. "Something you want to talk about?" he asked in a preoccupied tone.

Merlin decided to bite the bullet, and finally talk about something that had been on his mind all week. "What of the Silence, Doctor?"

The Doctor placed the piece of the Tardis and the sonic screwdriver on the floor besides him and gave Merlin his full attention. Merlin noticed that there was more of the same device lying next to where the Doctor sat. "I haven't forgotten."

"Then you have a plan?" Merlin asked hopefully.

"Nope," answered the Doctor. Merlin's face fell, but the Doctor smiled smugly. "Because you're working on one."

Merlin looked downward again. "I think I may have one already."

"Hop to it," the Doctor said, resuming what he was doing. "You heard Arthur. We've only got today. Just make sure you're back in time for that plan I _do_ have to work."

Merlin squared his jaw and sat there in silence for a moment longer. He knew Arthur wouldn't like his plan, but what else could he do?

Without another word, he left the Doctor and started for the drawing room.

When he reached it, he went inside and stood still, without anyone noticing his presence, for a few long moments. Arthur was looking over the map of London again with the Winchesters, Castiel, and John crowded around the table. They were no doubt going over the strategy one last time. There was a pause in their whispers, and Merlin decided that was his window to speak up.

"Arthur?" he said, folding his arms behind his back and stepping forward. His heart was racing, but it was now or never. "Can I have a word?"

"In a minute, Merlin. This is important," Arthur snipped busily.

Merlin shrugged nonchalantly. "No, it's fine," he said, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the wall. "I can wait."

Arthur rolled his head down at the words and let out a breath.

Everyone glanced at Arthur, silently asking if they should leave. When he nodded to them, they left Merlin and Arthur to it.

Once the last of them had disappeared out of the door, Arthur leaned his palms on the table, looked back down at the map, and said, "You've not come to tell me you're not joining us tomorrow?"

His tone was light, joking, and Merlin didn't have the heart to respond to it. A new wave of guilt washed over him and he averted his eyes to the planked floorboards.

"Merlin?" Arthur said, his tone slightly concerned now. When Merlin looked up, he saw Arthur was sizing him up.

He took a deep breath, ready to explain. "Arthur—"

There must have been something in his tone, because Arthur's expression changed completely and he immediately said, "No."

Merlin felt his heart skip a beat. "Arthur, just listen."

"No, you can't," Arthur ordered, and there was something close to panic in his voice. "You don't have a choice."

"No, I _don't_," Merlin agreed, somewhat forcefully. He walked to the table and placed his hands gingerly on the wood across from Arthur. He leaned in to catch Arthur's eyes. "There's something I have to do. I _have _to leave you—for about a day. But I _will_ return."

"You can't do this to me, Merlin." Arthur was trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "Not again. You can't just—just go away, Merlin!"

Merlin felt his heart break.

"Everything goes away, Arthur," he answered in a soft tone, and it seemed to have brought Arthur's anger back down to sorrow.

"You don't."

"No, you'd never let me."

Arthur nodded as though Merlin had made his point for him. "And I still won't."

Merlin eyed him up and down for a moment, remembering what Arthur had said about wanting Merlin at his side during the voyage to Avalon. Arthur had tried to make a throwaway comment, but Merlin now realized how much it meant to him. And at once Merlin made his decision.

But that would have to wait. There was still too much to do.

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "Please understand. Your plan is sound—you will be able to defeat Morgana's army, but it isn't the demons I'm worried about; it's the Silence."

Arthur met Merlin's eyes, but he did not speak.

"The demons can remember them, as can Morgana," Merlin went on. "No one but the angels and I can do the same. How are these people supposed to fight something they can't remember? That gives Morgana an advantage. We can't afford that. We _need_ others who can see them, too."

"And what do you suggest?" Arthur asked.

"We need creatures of magic."

Arthur scoffed. "No, Merlin," he said, pacing away from the table. Merlin followed him with his eyes. "You know what Sam and Dean do: you know creatures of magic are no friends to us these days. They're all evil."

Merlin shook his head. "Not all of them."

"Then, it isn't their battle," Arthur reached, gesturing. "They won't fight."

"There are those who can't refuse me," Merlin reminded him.

Arthur could not argue this, so he said, "Then I'll come with you."

"No, Arthur," Merlin said. "You have to stay and fight. These people need a leader. It's not just the United Kingdom that needs you; it's the whole world."

"And I need you," Arthur said promptly—one last attempt to get Merlin to stay. "By my side. Like always." He gave a halfhearted smile. "Last time you weren't, I died, remember?"

Merlin felt his heart drop into his stomach, and he looked down at his shoes. He would give anything to stay, for this to be like old times—but these were not old times. His eyes met Arthur's once more. "I have been at your side for over a thousand years, Arthur," he said. "And I would happily give a thousand more—but I am asking for a _day_." He grinned. "Just one day off. You _did_ promise, didn't you? All those years ago. Let me go, and I will come back. We will win this battle together."

Arthur seemed to consider this for a moment, and after a pause he gave a heavy sigh and nodded.

"Go."

Merlin nodded back dutifully, turned, and ran from the room. He needed to pack a bag quickly.

* * *

The trucks and vans were packed with all the supplies they could fit amongst the empty crates and multitude of soldiers, nurses, doctors, and volunteers waiting to get on their way. John and Sherlock stood nearby, ready to load into the back of a truck themselves for the journey, but the Doctor and Mary had come to give their goodbyes—among other things.

The Doctor had a backpack held open in his hands so that they could see what was inside: dozens of small, rounded devices. Zipping the pack back up and offering it to Sherlock, he said, "You know what to do with them. Now, we'll be right behind you. Don't start putting them up until the battle starts! We can't risk an Enforcer finding them. Then it would be over before it even got started."

"Of course," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," the Doctor said severely. "Nod if you'll keep your word."

Sherlock didn't nod, but everyone present knew he understood.

Still, the Doctor turned to John and said, "Make sure he keeps his word."

"Always," John promised.

"Good," the Doctor said shortly. He smiled widely and looked between John and Mary before slapping a palm on both of their shoulders and saying, "Well, then, I'll leave you two to your—," he pulled a face and lifted his hand off of Mary's shoulder to twiddle his fingers in a flutter, "—_smooching_."

With that, he was gone, and Mary moved in and stood on her toes to give Sherlock a long hug.

"Oh, be careful, you," she groaned into his coat.

When the hug broke, Mary stepped backwards again to look at both of them, and she forced a very believable smile onto her face. "Go save the world, you two," she said, raising her fists as though to cheer them on. "I'll be waiting to hear all about it."

"And you will," Sherlock avowed.

"Right, well, then," John said. Both he and Mary looked to Sherlock for a pause, and after a moment, he knitted his brows together like he didn't understand what they were waiting for. John cleared his throat and said, "Sherlock? Would you might giving Mary and I moment?"

"What for?"

"Sherlock."

"Ah!" Sherlock said, his eyes lighting up in understanding. "Right, of course. The smooching." He gave Mary a nod and said her name with finality before walking towards the trucks.

And John realized at once that he had no idea what to say. He looked to his shoes, trying to find the right words. Mary kept staring at him in waiting.

"So," she spoke first, making him look up at her. "Stay safe out there."

"No, don't worry too much," John told her, trying to soften the goodbye. "I'll be working the med tent, remember?"

"Still," she said forcefully. "Do me the favor and—"

"What? Let everyone else die first?" he joked.

Her expression stayed even and thoughtful. It made his smile fade.

"No," she said in consideration. "You'd never stand for that."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he instead wrapped her in his arms and she squeezed back tightly. He relished the moment, closing his eyes and trying hard to savor the contact. To remember everything about her.

The embrace broke too soon, in his opinion, but he knew he couldn't stand there forever.

After kissing her, he said, "I love you, Mary." It was four words he'd said countless times before, but they were different now. Somehow, they were more sincere.

"I love you, too," she said with the same weight.

And then she let him go, and he made his way to the trucks.

* * *

Merlin dropped his pack on the grass of the bailey. Before him, stood Melissa with James pressed against the front of her legs and her hands on his shoulders. Between both parties was Gwaine, who was staring up at Merlin with his tongue lolling out.

Merlin wished he had a leash to put in James' hand, but Gwaine never had one. There was no symbolic gesture for the exchange, just a parting of ways.

"He may run off sometimes, but he'll always come back—so long as he knows you'll feed him and give him a warm place to have a kip, alright?" Merlin said, kneeling down to be in James' line of sight, but also to be closer to Gwaine, because he never would be again.

His eyes shifted from James' to Gwaine's, and the dog shot him big brown eyes that seemed to understand what was happening. The expression was reminiscent of another's goodbye from so long ago.

"He'll protect you. He'll be loyal to the end," Merlin told James, and he smiled softly at Gwaine. "Just promise you'll protect him, too, like I couldn't," he added before he could stop himself, but James didn't question his words.

"I promise," he said, and it was enough for Merlin.

"Good," he answered, placing his palm on Gwaine's head and giving him a rough, quick rub as he stood up.

"Goodbye, old friend."

Gwaine gave a solitary bark to Merlin before sitting at James' feet.

With that, Merlin threw his backpack over his shoulder and started for the main gate of the castle. He pushed out of the doors, ready to move forward, but a voice from behind stopped him.

"Leaving without a goodbye?" Sam said, and Merlin turned around to face him. He and the Doctor were standing right outside the doors, as though they'd been waiting for Merlin.

"Everyone seemed too busy for it," Merlin excused.

"Well, you're right there," said the Doctor. He stepped forward and held up his hand, brandishing a smartphone. He placed it in Merlin's palm.

"It's plan B," he explained. "Well, really, it's Clara's."

Merlin furrowed his brow down at it. "I thought it was out of battery."

"It is, for the most part," the Doctor said, "but there's still just enough life in it to send one text message." He leaned in to Merlin and whispered, "We'll be waiting for your signal."

Merlin nodded to show he understood.

A smile slid onto the Doctor's face, and he clapped his palm lightly onto Merlin's cheek before heading back into the castle.

Merlin turned his attention to Sam, who was now walking towards him and asking, "Sure you don't need company?"

Merlin was grateful, but he shook his head. "No. Arthur needs you to fight. I'll be fine on my own."

Sam nodded in acceptance.

"But, Sam? Do me a favor?"

Sam shrugged. "Sure, anything."

"Look after him," Merlin asked.

"Yeah, promise," Sam said severely. "And you look after you."

Merlin pushed a half-smile to his face and offered his hand to Sam. Sam clasped his fingers around Merlin's forearm and held it for a moment before they released each other.

Then Merlin turned back around and headed down the bridge, aware of Sam seeing him off.

* * *

The sun was red on the horizon, casting the last of its glow over the land and creating black silhouettes out of the distant hills. The brick walls of the castle were tinted orange against the fading light, and the bailey was covered with shadows.

People were packed in the small space while others stood on the wall-walks or peered out from the windows. They waited patiently and quietly, save for a few tense whispers, until another, elongated shadow stretched over the crowd below from the bastion.

All the hushed mutterings died away as the people cast their eyes upward to Arthur. He surveyed the crowd for a long pause before speaking, but when he did, his words echoed throughout the stronghold for all to hear.

"Tonight, we face creatures that once existed only in nightmare," he began. "They have run you from your homes, taken your families, killed your friends—but there is something they have not taken from you: your will to be free. For months, you have worked tirelessly to fight against Morgana and her Enforcers. You have rebelled. You have made sacrifices. You have died . . . Tonight, we put an end to it."

Some of the whispers started up again as people listened and nodded their heads in readiness and solidarity.

"This is not a battle of man against magic," Arthur continued. "This is a stand against evil and tyranny incarnate. You do not fight for England or Wales, for Scotland or Ireland. Only together can we send these creatures back into Hell—cast them into fantasy, where they belong."

As the crowd got fired up, there were a few shouts of concurrence called up to Arthur, encouraging him to go on.

"Tonight, you must put your differences aside and stand together—to face this evil united, for all people of this land. You fight for your homes, for your families and neighbors. You fight for your way of life and for humanity itself—"

He drew his sword and held it up to the night sky.

"And for the love of the United Kingdom!"

The crowd broke into cheers: some people shouting, some applauding, and some crying whether for fear or for hope. Others still were chanting, repeating over and over again Arthur's final words.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four.**

Night was shrouding them now, and only the orange flames of the torches lit up the car park as the last of the trucks were loaded with soldiers and supplies.

"Looks like we're just about set," Sam told Cas, Arthur, Dean, and Clara when he met them in a cluster on the pathway leading back to the castle. He tried to keep his apprehension out of his tone, but his stomach felt like it was in knots and his throat was so constricted that it was a little difficult to breathe without taking in deep, rattling sighs that he could feel filling up his empty chest. He knew the others were feeling it, too. No matter how much bravado they fitted onto their faces like masks, their eyes betrayed them. They were all avoiding eye contact with one another, only looking at each other when everyone else was looking away.

Like it was the last time they'd ever stand together.

"Then, let's roll," Dean said to the group at large.

"Do one final check before taking off," Arthur told Dean, Sam, and Cas. "And good luck."

"Yeah," Sam told him. "You, too."

"Hang on. The Doctor told me to give you these," Clara said, pressing a small metal device into each other their palms in turn. "They're communicators," she explained. "Just put them in your ears and you'll be able to talk to one another. The Doctor, John, Sherlock, and I have got them, too. So do Yasmin, Kate, and Gwen." She tucked her hair behind her ear and turned her head to show them. "See? Their range is strong enough for me to hear you from the Tardis. Once the power in London gets turned back on, I'll patch into the CCTV network, so just call me your eyes and ears."

Each of them placed their own device inside their ears as she spoke.

"Well, then," Dean said in a breath. "Ready to head out?"

"Just one more thing," Clara said, putting a finger up to stop him. "The Doctor didn't tell me to give you this; it's from me." Without hesitation, she gripped the collar of Dean's jacket and pulled him down to meet her in a deep kiss.

As they saw this, Castiel tilted his head to the side while Arthur raised his brows. Sam let out a snort and shook his head in silent laughter.

Clara pulled away, but Dean stayed hunched over and a little unbalanced, his lips glistening and his eyes still filmed over in a daze.

"Good luck, boys," she said with a smile.

"Yeah, you, you—you, too," Dean stammered, gesturing his hand in what appeared to be a dilapidated wave, and Clara scampered off.

They all picked up their packs and prepared to leave.

* * *

Clara walked through the gate into the castle, looking down at her footsteps as she passed through the archway.

"What, I don't get a goodbye?"

It was the Doctor's voice, and Clara turned around to face him with a shocked jump. She hadn't seen him leaning against the brick wall when she entered and, once her heart stopped racing from the surprise he'd caused, she collected herself and said, "No."

He uncrossed his arms and stood up from his lean.

"You're not ever getting a goodbye from me," she finished.

A small smile etched his features as he strode over to stand in front of her, but he was giving her his big sad eyes.

"Doctor?" she asked. "We're going to win this, aren't we? We're going to save everyone, just like we always do. Tell me we are."

He scanned her face, but did not answer for a long while. Still, she continued to glance up at him hopefully. If the Doctor said they were going to win, she would believe him.

When he finally spoke, he said, "You're still worried about Angie and Artie, aren't you?"

She nodded grievously.

"They'll be alright, you know," he told her, offering a warm grin against her worry. "They're smart kids."

"Do you really think?"

"Of _course_!" was the answer. "After all, you helped raise them."

Clara grinned at him, a hint of pride shimmering in her large eyes.

"Now, off you pop," the Doctor said, nodding towards the bailey. "You'd better get to the Tardis. We won't be able to do this without you."

Her smile weakened, as did his, dropping their forced bravery; they could both see right through it, anyway. They wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace, and Clara had a surreal moment in which she wasn't so convinced they'd see each other again.

The hug broke, but their bodies lingered closely to one another's as the Doctor cupped her cheeks in his palms and stroked her skin gently with his thumbs.

"My impossible girl," he said tenderly, and her heart fluttered at the words.

"Chips on me when this is over?" she offered, and his grin grew as he nodded.

"See you later," she said.

The Doctor released her and stepped backwards, and she shot him one last smile before turning, causing her dress to whirl around her and dashing towards the Tardis.

* * *

They stayed off the main motorways, sticking only to the back roads, as they snaked their way through Surrey. They weren't far from London now, and the Doctor estimated they'd be outside the city within the hour. He sat in the front passenger seat while a soldier occupied the driver's side, and Arthur sat in the backseat between two other armed men. They were in the first car in the long line of those in their company while Gwen was bringing up the rear.

The SUV jounced on potholes and bumps in the tar as it rode along, and Arthur was starting to feel the discomfort it caused in his neck. Or maybe that was just stress.

On the road in front of them, high beams broke through the darkness and came up quickly in their direction. The driver of the other car flashed her lights a few times, alerting them that they were friend instead of foe.

"It's the scout," Arthur realized as the headlights got closer.

The soldier driving stopped the car when the other pulled up alongside him, and both rolled down their windows. Arthur leaned forward between the driver and the Doctor to hear what the scout had to say.

"I wouldn't go any further," she warned. "There's a checkpoint about a mile up."

"A _what_?" Arthur asked in shock. "There wasn't one on the map."

"Morgana must have put more up," the Doctor reasoned. "You know she's been trying to catch the rebels."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed at his eyes, trying to stifle his tension headache long enough to think.

"Keep going, boss?" the driver asked him after a moment.

"No, we can't risk them alerting Morgana," Arthur said. "We can't be seen."

"We can't keep sitting here, Arthur," the Doctor told him, "or else we'll be seen for sure."

Arthur's eyes flashed to the Doctor in acknowledgment, but he stayed quiet and pulled out a map from the seatback pocket.

"There's got to be another way," he muttered, mentally tracing the map to construct another route. There were a number of side roads along their current motorway, but he didn't know which would be the quickest to London. And they had to get there by midnight, when the checkpoints were to be taken, for their strategy to work.

Focusing, he squinted down at the multicolored lines on the map, trying to distinguish one from the other in the darkness. But then the shadows lessened. A faint, bluish glow flooded over the map, distracting Arthur from his thoughts.

"What the hell," the driver breathed, making Arthur's gaze snap to him. He was staring out the windshield with his mouth hanging open. In the passenger seat, the Doctor was doing the same. In fact, something had caught everyone's eye.

Arthur looked forward to find an orb of swirling light dancing midair over the hood of the car, ebbing up and down as it hovered.

He recognized that light.

The orb started away from the car, floating forward enticingly.

"Follow it," Arthur told the driver. "It will show us the way."

That seemed to break the spell the light had over everyone, and the Doctor snapped back into attention and yelled, "_Follow_ it? It could be one of Morgana's tricks!"

"It's not. It's a guide," Arthur said surely. He turned his head to the driver and said again, more forcefully, "Follow it."

The driver looked nervous, but he put the car back into gear and drove forward.

"Arthur, are you _sure_ this is safe?" the Doctor asked warily.

"I'm sure," Arthur told him, staring back at the light. "It was sent by someone looking after us."

* * *

They reached the part of the road where they had to break up about ten miles outside of the city, which loomed like a black cloud against the starry sky. The cars came to a halt, as everyone got out to collect their weapons and wait for Sam, Dean, and Cas to give them orders. The three men stood at the front of the group, gripping their weapons in precaution as they surveyed their surroundings.

"Midnight is in one hour," Cas told them. "We shouldn't stay here any longer. Sam still needs to reach Wembley."

From the middle of the three, Dean nodding in agreement. "And we gotta get into our position, too." He turned his head to Sam, who looked back at him. "You got your ears on?"

Sam touched his comm. in his ear and listened to his crackle softly. He nodded. "Got it."

"Good," Dean said. He turned back to Cas. "Load 'em up."

Cas nodded before leaning forward to get a better view of Sam. "Good luck, Sam," he said.

"Yeah," Sam told him. "Yeah, you, too, Cas." And Cas stepped into the group, shouting for the soldiers to pile into the trucks.

As the movement ensued behind them, Sam gazed off at the deserted highway he was charged with leading his battalion down. He then looked at the exit ramp that Dean and Cas would head down with their group.

"Big day," Dean said, knocking Sam out of his thoughts. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Sam told him honestly. He met Dean's eyes. "You?"

Dean pursed his lips and shrugged. "Ready to raise Hell—or lower it. Whatever."

Sam forced out a breath of laughter, but Dean knew better than to think it was real. When he looked back at Dean, some of his brother's boldness had slipped from his eyes.

"You watch your back, Sammy."

Sam squared his jaw and nodded, not able to say anything passed the lump in his throat. He turned away, watching his makeshift army pile into the vans. They were his responsibility now, and he wondered briefly if his father had felt this same weight on his shoulders when he was in the Marines.

"Sam," he heard Dean say suddenly from behind him, and when he turned back around, Dean unexpectedly threw his arms around him. It took Sam by surprise at first, but then he eased into the embrace. He felt Dean's fists held tightly on his shoulder blades, and he reciprocated by placing his open palms on Dean's back. When they pulled away, Dean clasped his hands on Sam's shoulders and gave him a strong nod.

"See you at the finish line," he said, patting Sam's shoulders one last time before tearing himself away and heading into the throng.

Sam watched him hoist himself up on the door of the first truck and knock his palm twice against the window. "Alright, head out!" Dean shouted, his voice loud and authoritative, and the engines started up again. They drove passed Sam, heading down the ramp, and Sam turned halfway around to watch Dean disappear before turning to his unit.

"Alright, you heard 'em!" he shouted, trying to match Dean's tone, but he never really could. "We're movin' out!"

* * *

John stared down at his watch for the fifth time in the last two minutes. From his place on the sanctuary, he brought his eyes back to the nave, which was still bustling with people doing last minute checks.

In the hours since they arrived at St. Paul's, they moved all the chairs to the sides and set down tarps and blankets in rows and sections along the marbled floor, with each doctor and staff in charge of a portion. Medical supplies were placed along the archways, and extras were kept in the whispering gallery. They had soldiers stationed inside every entrance just in case, because it was no use salting the doors. There would be too much foot traffic for it to keep.

John just had to pray Sherlock was right and the demons wouldn't enter the cathedral.

He blew out his lips, bouncing a little in anticipation as he checked his watch again. He was aware of Sherlock, who was standing next to him, glancing at him in slight agitation out of the corners of his eyes.

"Fifteen minutes to midnight," John told him. "You'd better get into position now." He turned slightly to look at Sherlock fully, but Sherlock remained facing forward in a statuesque position. "Where will you be starting?"

"I'll make my way to Westminster first. There's no use in backtracking," Sherlock said. "I'll finish at the Tower."

"If you don't get caught first," John couldn't help but to voice, realizing how morbid it sounded much too late. "Don't do that."

"That's the general plan," Sherlock droned.

John let out a deep breath, and he could feel the familiar sensation of combat flowing through him. He hoped Arthur would give them the go-ahead soon, however, because these were the moments he dreaded the most: the calm before the storm. The quiet before the battle.

It was as though the entire city was holding its breath.

"Do be careful tonight, John," Sherlock said almost suddenly, and John looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. Sherlock was still motionless, his hands folded behind his back as he gazed out onto the scene.

"Is that worry I hear in your voice?" John teased.

Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked down at him. "I only mean you haven't been to battle in awhile," he said casually. "You must be rusty."

John smirked and brought his eyes to the front again. "I'll worry about you, too, Sherlock," he said, and he didn't have to look to know the words made Sherlock smile—if only a little.

At once, Sherlock moved back to the alter and scooped up the backpack the Doctor had given him. Slipping into it, he said, "I'll be off." He hopped down the steps and sauntered through the center aisle of the cathedral. When he reached the end, two of the soldiers stationed at the double doors opened them up with an echoing bang, and Sherlock slipped into the night.

* * *

Arthur peered out the window at the dark streets of Richmond. In the near distance there were towering hotels and a few office buildings. Townhouses and neighborhood cul-de-sacs lined the street they were on, so close to the entrance of the M4. They'd be driving onto it any moment, as soon as Yasmin gave them the go-ahead.

In the meantime, he looked out the back window of the truck at the line behind them, where hundreds of men and women were readying themselves for the night ahead. The same was true of the two soldiers sitting on either side of him, one of whom was bouncing his leg nervously while the other muttered in prayer.

He assumed similar things were happening in the other cars. But Arthur believed in those in his command. If there was ever any doubt in his mind that they were ready for this battle, it was erased completely. Of course, he was aware of the fear in their eyes—the uncertainty—but he also saw the willingness and the strength of hope. Those traits were what made a soldier.

"Midnight," the Doctor said solemnly, looking down at the watch face on his inner wrist. "On the dot."

Arthur put his finger to his ear, hearing the comm. crackle into life.

"Is everyone in position?" he asked.

"Ready," came Sam.

"Ready and waiting," Dean said next.

John said, "Uh—me, too."

"John, once we reach our positions, send out teams of medics," Arthur said.

"The trucks are loaded and waiting."

"Good. Sherlock, I trust you're in place?" Arthur asked.

"He'd better be," the Doctor said into his own comm. "We've got to have all the transmitters up by sunrise. Not a moment to lose."

"I can hardly wait," Sherlock assured them dryly.

"Clara, are you receiving us?" Arthur then asked.

"Load and clear," she said from her place in the Tardis.

"Good. As soon as the power comes on, ensure you get to the CCTV feed."

"It's all ready to go," she told him.

Arthur let out a breath, eyeing the dark landscape again before asking in trepidation, "Is there any sign of him?"

"Not from where I'm standin'," Dean's voice said through the static, and everyone else answered in kind.

Arthur's spine tensed slightly, and he saw the Doctor shift to look at him. "He'll be here," the Doctor told him. "I promise."

Arthur nodded, but the simple fact remained: "We can't wait."

In his ear, Kate said, "The M4 is unblocked. We're moving towards the Tower."

"Sam, get to Trafalgar. Go now," Arthur ordered. "Dean, Castiel, hold your position. You'll enter at the same time as us."

"M1's checkpoint is down," he heard Yasmin say over the line. She sounded out of breath. "But, Arthur, one of them got through to Buckingham."

Arthur grinded his teeth, even though he knew Morgana being alerted was an eventuality.

"Get to Piccadilly," he told Yasmin, staying calm. He continued, "Dean, move now. Gwen, are we ready?"

"All set."

Arthur took his fingers away from his ear and gave the driver the signal to move forward.

* * *

The trucks were making their way in a line down Victoria Street towards Parliament Square. Dean kept his artillery gun on his lap and his eyes out the window, peering in every direction in concentration. He clocked every doorway and alley they passed, and so far they hadn't seen a single flash of a white uniform. He turned his eyes forward to look out the windshield. The tips of Westminster Abbey's stone towers were in sight.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang and car in the front of the line lost control. It spun out and flipped over, and the truck behind it had no reaction time to stop. It crashed into the other at full speed. Dean braced himself as the driver of the truck he was in floored the brakes and cut the wheel to avoid collision. The vehicle screeched to a halt, and there was a pause into which Dean felt his heart pounding in his ears.

"What the fuck was that?" he breathed, clutching onto his gun, but there was no way he could aim in it such a confined space.

"Dean," Cas said from the backseat, and something in his tone directed Dean's eyes to where a group of Enforcers were coming out from the adjacent street. They had guns of their own held at the ready. "There are too many to get through."

"Get everyone out. We'll use the trucks for cover," Dean decided. "We're gonna have to fight our way to Parliament."

As the driver picked up the CB radio to get the message to the rest of the trucks, Dean forced his door open and slid out. He leaned against the window and switched the safety off on his gun.

Cas, along with the other two soldiers in the backseat, was at Dean's side momentarily. He took out his angel blade and held it up to his chest readily. Down the line of cars, people were piling out and getting themselves equipped and into formation. Some people crouched around the hoods of the trucks or stationed their guns over the top of the cabin. Others snuck around the back to get a better vantage point.

Dean squatted down and shuffled towards the front wheel of the car in order to set up his rifle over the hood. He risked a peek over the hood at the Enforcers, who were preparing themselves similarly, but without cover or obstructions, like they were indestructible. Dean's lips twisted into a smirk at that.

Neutralizing his expression, he looked up at Cas and gave the go-ahead nod.

Cas didn't hesitate. "Fire!" he shouted, and gunfire filled the air.

Dean loosed a few rounds, too, getting a feel for the power behind the rifle. He remembered the first time he ever shot an artillery weapon. It was a lot different from the feeling of a handgun or a rifle. He had to brace his entire body or be blown off his feet, like getting smacked by the hand of god.

As the bullets connected to the Enforcers, their skin erupted and their bodies scattered into ashes, leaving only their silhouettes on the pavements or the walls. The demons still alive fired back, their bullets ricocheting or lodging into the sides of the cars. Many of them hit flesh, and Dean heard shouts as some of the soldiers were hit. Some fell back in spurts of blood before going limp on the tar.

"We can't stay here forever, Dean," Cas said, still gripping onto his blade.

"Just makin' a little wiggle room," Dean assured him before firing another round.

Eventually, they'd taken out enough demons to come out from behind the cars. Those with guns and arrows continued to shoot while others with blades and knives, like Cas, got into hand to hand combat.

As they pushed their way towards Parliament, more demonic forces were surrounding them. It got worse the closer Dean and his troops enhanced, and the demons became more ferocious about defending the area. Soon, Dean ran out of bullets in his rifle. Letting it dangle from his shoulder, he pulled out his Colt instead and began firing until the trigger clicked uselessly.

"Cas!" he shouted, locating Cas a few feet away in the mayhem.

Cas turned to Dean immediately and fought his way to Dean's side. In the meantime, Dean used the end of rifle to fend off a few demons.

"I gotta reload," he said after Cas caught up to him and plunged his blade into one of the demons.

Cas scanned the area until his eyes landed on something directly behind Dean. He nodded in that direction, and Dean turned around towards Westminster Abbey.

"Awesome," Dean said. "I call base."

Dean stuck close to Cas as they fought their way through the demons, and they collected as many soldiers as they could along the way. The grounds outside the Abbey were like an island in the middle of a sea. One demon dared to step over her invisible boundary, and she immediately began to sizzle and fall to the ground, convulsing.

The demons couldn't get through, but their bullets could. One took down a man standing just feet from Dean in the oasis.

"Inside!" Dean bellowed, and the soldiers rushed for the doors.

It was dark on the other side, save for the moonlight that streamed in through the stained glass and painted patterns on the floor. Dean reloaded his weapon, hearing the magazine click into place in the quiet.

Then he reached into his holster and pulled out a demon bomb. Gripping it in his palm he rushed back to the doors and opened them a crack.

"Fire in the hole!" he shouted, his voice bouncing back to him off the walls, as he chucked the grenade outside. It exploded in the middle of a cluster of demons, who were all destroyed by its blast.

"Plenty more where that came from!" Dean shouted warningly, but he was lying. He was only packing a few more bombs, and he had to use them sparingly.

Across the way, he saw Cas sitting in one of the pews and facing the alter in concentration.

"Cas!" Dean barked. He ran passed the other soldiers to stand next to the pew Cas was in. "You rested up? C'mon. What the hell are you doing?"

"We're in a church, Dean," Cas told him, still staring straight. "I'm praying."

Outside, there was a loud commotion, drawing Dean back to the door. Peering out, he saw the demons scattering away from Westminster. On the grounds of the Abbey, a new group of soldiers appeared as though out of thin air. They had their angel blades held out, and some of them were already charging into the crowd. They appeared and reappeared around the demons, smiting them with a touch. The angels were clearing the path towards Parliament Square. Amongst them, Dean caught sight of Ambriel, and he knew Cas' prayers had been answered.

"Cas," Dean called again over his shoulder. "Our reinforcements are here!"

Opening the doors wider again, Dean rushed the soldiers back into the fray.

* * *

A bomb went off to Sam's left, taking with it a few demons, but there were still plenty more Enforcers to choose from. He ran up the steps to the base of Nelson's Column to get a better view of the area. It was packed all around, from Admiralty Arch to the National Gallery.

He picked out flashes of white in the pandemonium and, when he had a clear shot, he took it. Eventually, he rushed back down the steps of the monument to fight his way through to Charing Cross. Soldiers were falling everywhere he looked, but he also saw bursts of black as the demons disintegrated. If Sam's men were dying, he was at least proud that they were taking some demons with them.

Just as he reached the roundabout, someone grabbed at him and jerked him back. The demon forced him around and swung its fist into Sam's nose, making a thick glob of blood trickle out of it. It made Sam lose his balance momentarily, but he straightened out soon enough and emptied a bullet into the demon's chest.

Two more demons replaced him, like heads on a Hydra. They came out of the crowd on either side. Sam dodged the advances of one, but the other landed another punch, this time to his jaw. Sam swung back with the butt of his rifle, knocking the demon away. The other one rushed him again, and forced him to the ground with superhuman strength.

Sam grunted upon impact, feeling a sharp pain shoot up his spine, and his eyes squeezed tightly closed from the pain.

However, when he opened them, the pressure of the demon's fist was off his chest. On the ground on either side of Sam, the Enforcers he'd been battling were nothing but shrunken bodies whose eye sockets were empty and smoking.

Sam got to his feet, trying to shake away his disorientation long enough to think. If the demons had been hit with a bullet or a bomb, they would be dust. It looked like an angel had gotten the jump on them, but all of them were with Dean and Cas.

What the hell happened, and why didn't he remember it?

Suddenly, a realization hit him, and he scanned the area wildly for any sign of the Silence. Whether or not they could kill demons, Sam did not know; and he had no guesses as to why they'd kill their allies, but it was the only thing that explained the memory lapse.

Even if it didn't account for all the other blackouts Sam had been experiencing for months on end.

But he didn't have too much time to dwell on finding an explanation. Along the sidewalk, he saw a streetlamp light up. Down the street, more lights flickered on. Sam's face broke into a grin. They had power.

* * *

The monitor on the Tardis console switched from its display of spinning Gallifreyan text to six boxes showing different areas around the city. Clara took her palm off her cheek and stood up from her lean against the controls when she realized it. Most of the video feeds revealed deserted streets or stray people running for shelter, but one of them showed Piccadilly, where the druids and demons fought in jerking and disconnected movements on the screen.

Clara hit one of the buttons on the console, making a few of the pictures change to other feeds.

"Clara, you getting anything?" Sam said.

Bringing her other hand to her ear, she said, "Just looking for everyone and—there you are!"

She didn't know if Sam had heard her reply. He was too busy taking out a demon.

Clara flipped through the shots again, paying attention to each frame.

"Doctor, stay away from the A4. A troop of Enforcers is moving down it. Take Jermyn Street to Regent instead," she said. "And you've got to move faster if you're going to make sunrise. Sherlock is already miles ahead."

"Well, it's difficult when you keep giving me detours," the Doctor complained, making Clara wrinkle her nose.

"_One_ detour, thank you very much."

She looked at the screen again.

"Arthur, Gwen, Buckingham's Gates are being heavily guarded," she warned. "You'll want to throw in a few bombs in before heading out of the park."

"We're not quite there yet," Gwen yelled into her comm., and Clara heard the sounds of gunfire and the clanging of swords in the background.

Swallowing hard, she ignored it.

"Sam, you need to start moving down Whitehall. There's a group headed your way. Cut them off first."

"Got it," Sam said.

"Ooh, nice one, Yasmin!"

"Hey, where's the camera by me?" Dean's voice came through. "I'm gonna wave to you."

"_Dean_, would you focus?" Sam scolded.

"There's a cluster on a pole across from Big Ben," Sherlock answered Dean's question.

"Clara, look!" said Dean.

Clara's eyes flickered back to the monitor, focusing on the square showing Westminster. Near the bridge, she saw a blurred figure turn and wave directly towards the camera.

She rolled her eyes but found herself waving back, even though Dean couldn't see her.

A demon was coming up on Dean's back, and she almost clapped her hands over her mouth in a gasp; but he turned abruptly and shot the demon down.

"Did you see me?" he then asked.

"You people are the _chattiest_ group I have _ever_ fought alongside!" Arthur shouted, and there was radio silence for a few seconds until Dean spoke again.

"Okay, but did'ya?"

Clara giggled.

* * *

Sherlock had already placed two transmitters on the other side of the river. One was attached to the controls of the London Eye while the other had been placed on the base of a telephone booth. The Doctor had told him to attach them to anything with an electrical source, and he'd been very particular about the layout of where they needed to go.

Sherlock had crossed the bridge to Parliament, trying his best to duck and weave his way around the skirmish without being seen. The pathways his network has set up could only go so far, and they were quite useless when the Doctor specifically told him to put a device near Parliament. He would have to make this excursion off the hidden path quick.

Recalling the CCTV cameras he'd told Dean about earlier, he slipped across the street and fixed the transmitter onto the support beam. He clicked the button on the side to activate it, and the light switched from red to orange before flashing back again.

He swung his pack back over his shoulder, ready to move on, but then something pushed him full-force into the beam. It hadn't been anything physical, but it felt like he'd been shoved. He allowed himself a moment to groan, but then spun around to face his adversary.

The demon pointed his rifle at Sherlock.

"What's in the bag?" it demanded.

Sherlock remained quiet, staring the creature down. It raised its weapon a little higher.

"I said, what's in the—"

There was a loud gunshot, closer and somehow more prominent than the rest, and the demon in front of Sherlock suddenly exploded into ash.

Sherlock blinked rapidly at the spot where the demon had been standing. Now unobstructed from view, Dean stood with his gun still raised, but he slowly lowered it.

Sherlock looked at him dead in the eyes, reading the hard lines of Dean's expression. But then Dean gave him a curt nod, and Sherlock reciprocated the gesture.

They both turned in different directions and resumed their duties.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five.**

Sam's forces had pushed their way out of Charing Cross and into Whitehall, where they led an attack on the Enforcers who had stood in defense of Downing Street.

Sam had sent in a few soldiers to take down the barricade of demons around the street's gate. The Enforcers there were cornered, but reinforcements were coming from every direction. Sam organized units on either side of the streets, hoping they would work as a blockade to keep the reinforcements away from Downing Street's entrance.

"Sam, more are headed your way from Trafalgar," Clara warned him, but Sam didn't have the time to respond. He aimed his rifle and took down another line of demons.

"Regroup!" Sam called out as he noticed breaks in their formation. A number of Enforcers had managed to slip through their line of defense. Sam shouted out more orders, telling some of the soldiers to break configuration and take down the demons.

He spun back around again to rejoin the battle, but what he saw in the close distance almost knocked the wind out of him.

In the bedlam, he caught sight of three tall, gray figures standing motionlessly on the other side of the street. They were horrible, and he instantly remembered them. Images of the Silence filled his head. He recalled them being at various skirmishes. He'd seen them in some of the towns and villages on the trade route. He remembered seeing one near Parliament on that first night.

People rushed around them as though they did not realize the Silences' presence, but their slender features loomed above the top of the crowd. Sam leveled his rifle at them, trying to get a clear shot.

Someone shrieked nearby, reflexively drawing Sam's attention away. He could not find the source of the shout, and he realized quite suddenly that he was aiming his weapon. He looked down at it with furrowed brows before glancing up to find his target. There was nothing.

Shaking the confusion away, he swung the barrel of his gun around and returned to the fight.

* * *

The Doctor rushed up the steps from Piccadilly Station, breaking the surface beneath the large flashing signs advertising for TDX, McDonald's, and other businesses that went ignored as the fight raged on. He risked a look towards the fountain in the traffic circle, where about a dozen demons were trapped inside a shimmering force field that the druids had apparently constructed. It reminded him of the giant snow globe that could usually be found there during Christmas time.

The rest of the circus was in ruins from the magical warfare that was taking place. The roads had cracks through them, charred bodies simmered as they were trampled, and telekinesis seemed to be the best line of defense.

He spotted Yasmin in the mix. She had turned her rifle on a demon and aimed true. It disappeared into dust.

Bringing himself back to the task at hand, he took another device and said to it: "Now, where to put you?"

"Doctor," he heard Clara say. "What on Earth are you doing?"

"I'm _trying_ to pick a location for the transmitter!"

There was a pause before he heard her say into a sigh, "You're in Piccadilly. Turn around."

He looked up at the signs above his head, and a grin spread to his face. She was right: there was no better electrical output in all of London.

He rushed to one of the archways, using the grooves in the wall to climb up about halfway. He stretched his arm out to the digital sign above the Boots, and he just missed it. Taking a breath, he tried again, and he was able to stick the device onto the flashing advert. Using the sonic, he fastened it in.

But, as soon as the light flashed orange, the transmitter sparked and electrical feedback screeched in his ear, causing him to instinctively let go of the walls to reach for the side of his head. He fell down the pavement on his back, and let out a groan before sitting up.

"Clara?" he asked, but he didn't receive an answer. "Clara, can you hear me? Dean? Arthur?"

There wasn't even static.

Apparently, Yasmin was experiencing something similar. She appeared over the Doctor, looking filthy, ripped, and tired.

"What the hell just happened?"

"It's the transmitters," the Doctor said, looking up at the device he'd just placed. "They're causing too much interferences—_Look out_!"

She spun around to the oncoming demon with her palm raised and shouted out a quick incantation that made her eyes glow gold. The demon spiraled back through the air.

"Was that one of Merlin's?" the Doctor asked as she helped him to his feet. He brushed himself off.

"Never mind that. How are we supposed to communicate with each other?"

He took his comm. out of his ear, looking at it gravely before flashing his gaze back to her.

"We don't."

* * *

"Cas, we got it sorted here," Dean called, but his eyes were behind Cas, peering up at the plumes of gray smoke that was drifting off the tower above where they stood in the greenery outside Parliament. Men and women still rushed around them on all sides, taking out the small group of demons that was left on the grounds.

"Dean, inside—," Cas tried to protest, but Dean cut him off.

"Whoever's left inside is shakin' in their boots," he said confidentially. "We'll split our forces. I'll take a group inside and make this victory official and you take the rest and head up the Thames, alright?"

Cas looked over his shoulder at the ancient building and thinning crowd surrounding them. He'd be leading them back into the chaos if he went with Dean's plan, but he knew this win would have lifted their morale. He turned back to Dean and agreed.

"Keep a number of angels with you. There could be Silence inside," he told Dean before moving out.

* * *

Sherlock ripped the comm. out of his ear with a hiss. There was no use wearing it any longer anyway, except to alert the Doctor that he was finished placing his half of the transmitters. Or at least he would be finished soon.

He was on Tower Bridge, which was completely deserted. However, a fight must have broken out there because large pieces of rubble littered the road. Chunks of tar were missing and trucks were left abandoned and pierced with bullet holes.

Sherlock crouched down next to a streetlamp on the walkway and attached the last device in his pack. He pressed the button so the light turned orange, but then it quickly flashed back to red. The Doctor wasn't done yet.

Sherlock let out a huff, staring down at the light as though it would turn green any second, until he heard the faint echoing of footsteps nearby. He turned his head quickly to the source, finding a man in a white uniform staring back.

Blackness spread across his eyes.

Sherlock slowly stood back up, watching the demon carefully. He reached into his coat and pulled out an angel blade.

* * *

The main doors boomed open, causing the dust from the rubble lining the streets to spiral inside. Dust and dirt coated the tiles and spread along the patients, both struggling with injuries and laying motionless beneath white sheets.

John brought his eyes up from a soldier's leg wound to the dozen or so people trudging through the entranceway and towards the empty stations. Bloody and battered men and women were carried in, some held in a fireman's grip and others with their arms slung over the shoulders of those on either of their sides. Just before the doors slammed closed again, John noticed the statue in the courtyard outside had gotten decapitated.

He spotted Melissa struggling to carry a freshly wounded man towards a blanket and rushed to help her.

"Where are all these people coming from?" he asked as he heaved one of the man's arms over his shoulder. Between them, the soldier's head lolled, and Melissa had to push her neck forward to look at John.

"What the hell is happening out there?" John continued as they set the man down on a blanket on the floor and checked for a pulse. It was there, but shallow, and there was a gaping wound in his abdomen. John called for antiseptic and stitches, and the provisional nurses scrambled to get him the supplies.

"There was an explosion," Melissa reported as they worked on stopping the bleeding. "It killed three of ours, and wounded much more."

A nurse had brought over the supplies he needed, and their stitches were now down to needles and thread, but it would have to do.

"Where was this?" John asked, preoccupied as he threaded the needle.

"Over by the Tower of London," Melissa informed him, and John's hand suddenly became unsteady.

"The Tower," he whispered, feeling his stomach drop. A cold, crippling fear he remembered so well from the battlefield washed over him. He tried to keep it in check. It was a sensation he had learned to ignore, but that had been so long ago.

"But that's where . . ."

He jumped to his feet instantly and, steeling himself, called for a doctor working on a soldier nearby.

"Dr. Evans, see to this man," he demanded before rushing towards the sanctuary. Melissa waited for Dr. Evans to take over before following in his wake.

"What are you doing? That man needs you!" she was shouting, but he didn't listen. He took out his gun from his belt and reloaded it with the Winchester's bullets, some of which had been inside the Tabernacle.

"Stay here," he told Melissa over his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" she demanded as he whipped passed her and flew back down the steps. "Dr. Watson?"

He got lost in the crowd, pushing his way towards the exit.

"_Dr. Watson_!"

* * *

The tip of Arthur's sword ripped through a demon's torso. The spirit inside flashed a crimson light as Arthur withdrew the blade and pushed the body forward. It landed with a splash in the pond, making the fish beneath the surface scatter away.

Another few demons came up behind him, and Arthur spun around with his sword and cut one down. Another fell with a turn of Arthur's wrist. The last blocked the blow and forced Arthur's arm down with a grunt. He compensated by kicking the demon away. As it stumbled, he moved to raise his sword again, but an arrow flew passed his head and landed in the center of the demon's chest. It crumbled into ash, which sprinkled the grass with gray soot.

Arthur looked over his shoulder as Gwen appeared at his side, already placing another arrow in her bow.

"We've got to move to Buckingham," Arthur shouted to her over the noise. "We have to find Morgana before sunrise."

"The Enforcers are blocking the Gates," she argues. "If they keep sending reinforcements here, we can draw enough away to get inside."

"There's no time!"

Even though it looked like she was going against her better judgment, she reached into her holster and produced a demon bomb. "Take this," she said, and he caught it in both hands. "I'll stay here. Lead a group to the Gates if you must but—"

As she spoke, an Enforcer had crept up behind her. Arthur brought his eyes up from the grenade in his hand just in time to see it grab her at the shoulder and slice a knife across her soft throat.

"_Gwen_!"

He rushed forward before he'd fully recognized what happened. He thrust his blade near the side of her waist, careful not to injure her while the sword went through the Enforcer's gut. The demon collapsed to the dirt, and Gwen fell forward into Arthur. She was shivering and he heard her sputtering for breath in the close proximity, and the realization of what happened weighed upon him.

He brought her down to the grass, supporting her body on his knees and wrapping his arms around her. She continued to convulse as red poured from her wound and stained her front. She could not speak, but her eyes were saying something valiant. He was sure his own eyes were terrified and, more than ever, repentant.

Still, he kept their gazes locked until hers veiled over and her body stilled.

He allowed himself only a moment before guiding her head delicately to the grass and leaving her body on the banks of the water.

His shirt was tainted and heavy, but the color of her blood mixed in with that of the fabric. He called for his soldiers to make way for Buckingham and, raising his sword again, Arthur fought his way down the path.

* * *

"Sherlock!"

The body count became increasingly worse the closer he got to the Tower. At one point, it had gotten so bad that the truck John had hitched a ride in from St. Paul's could go no further without running over corpses. He'd decided to take his chances on foot for the next half-mile, and he had to reload his weapon twice before reaching the Tower's courtyard.

It was mostly UNIT soldiers in this area, but he noticed some men and women that he himself had trained, too. John pressed through the fighting, clocking every face, both of the combating living and the still dead. His mouth went dry whenever he spotted a mass of black hair belonging to the latter, and he felt somewhat guilty for the relief he felt when the blank face wasn't familiar to him.

"Sherlock!" he called again over the struggle.

He spotted a stone stairwell leading up to the wall-walk and made for it, knowing he'd have a better vantage point of the area from above. Around him, angels were brandishing their swords fearsomely and soldiers were wielding their guns, taking out demons at every turn. Still, many demons were holding their ground, and multitudes had taken blades or guns from the fallen to fight back.

John rushed up the uneven stairs, dodging blows and leaping out of the way as men and women tumbled downward. When he finally managed to get above, the fighting was even more chaotic. People were packed into the small allures, some losing their footing and falling to the crowd and stones below. Some were deliberately kicked downward.

John didn't know what was happening in Central London, but it was all out warfare on the fringes of the battle.

And, every moment, his breath became more labored. Every moment, it became more and more likely that Sherlock was—

_No_.

He would not finish that thought.

A demon came charging towards him, and John leveled his gun at it automatically. Sprays of red showered his cheeks from the shot.

"Sherlock!" he called again, louder this time.

"John!" someone called back, but it wasn't Sherlock. The voice was much too gravely and intense—and American.

John located the source. On a wall adjacent to him, Castiel was taking out two demons with his blade.

"John!" he called again as the bodies fell, and he risked a look in John's direction. When he was sure he had John's attention, he pointed quickly towards the bridge in the close distance.

"Sherlock!" Castiel bellowed simply.

John trained his eyes on the bridge, which was laden with rubble and devoid of movement—all but in one spot. Near the edge, in the center of the bridge, two figures were struggling, hand-to-hand beneath a streetlamp. One of the dark silhouettes had coat tails flapping behind him, and John felt his heart skip a beat.

"_Sherlock_!"

Even without the background noise, he was severely out of earshot, and neither of the figures on the bridge seemed made any sign that they had heard John's shout by some sixth sense. John watched as Sherlock and the demon battled towards a part of the bridge that had a large chunk of its protective railing missing. The demon slipped, or he was pushed—it was hard to say from where John was—but he must have grabbed hold of Sherlock just in time because the two tumbled through the air, downwards towards the water.

John didn't realize he was shouting at first, as though his voice alone would cushion Sherlock's fall. They seemed to be spinning downward for an eternity, still grappling in midair. There was a great column of smoke that erupted around them as the demon fled from its vessel, right before the bodies hit the river, the vessel first and Sherlock on top of him.

All sense of time and light and noise became muffled to John as he watched the water ripple, but his instincts kicked in and he pushed the sensation away. Reality caught back up to him; it found him flying back down the stairs and shooting his way over the drawbridge until he was out of bullets. He was vaguely aware of Castiel rushing in his wake as he ran passed the destroyed ticket booths towards the banks of the Thames. Without hesitation, he rushed down the concrete steps of the river and plunged into the cold water, letting the current aid him towards where Sherlock had fallen.

Once he was beneath the shadow cast by the bridge, he took a deep breath and swam towards the depths. It was dark in the moonlight and almost too murky to see. Reluctantly, he had to break the surface for air. He was a few meters away from the bridge now, and he knew he had to find Sherlock soon—living or dead—or else the current would drag them both away.

"Sherlock?" he panted, his eyes wildly scanning the choppy waves around him for a sign of a floating figure. There was a man face down being dragged down river alongside him, and John treaded swiftly towards him and turned him over. It must have been the demon's vessel, whose eyes were open with sightless fear and confusion. Crimson was leaking from his mouth and mixing with the brown water around them. His body must have broken upon impact, and all John could do was hope his body had mitigated Sherlock as he broke water.

Still, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen above surface. That either meant he still had breath in him, causing him to sink, or the undertow was pulling his body down. John chose to believe the former as he dived back under in search.

This time, it wasn't long before he caught sight of a black coat billowing and flowing in the ether. Air bubbles were drifting up from Sherlock's pale face, masking his lips and nostrils, and his eyes were closed unconsciously.

John felt his lungs fighting for air, aching to take a breath, but he wouldn't risk letting Sherlock out of his sight. He swam down towards him as quickly as he could and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's thin waist. He struggled a few inches upward before Sherlock began to slip, too weighed down and heavy.

John gasped involuntarily, bubbles floating around him as his lungs filled with foul tasting water. The pressure became threatening and he felt lightheaded, but he was determined enough to not let Sherlock go. Making the decision, he fought Sherlock out of his coat, fully aware that Sherlock would probably kill him later; but he'd have to be alive for that first.

The coat drifted unburdened downriver, getting lost in the blackness, and Sherlock was much lighter as John kicked them towards the surface.

The sudden burst of air was harsh as it entered John and it tired him significantly, but he was grateful for it. He kept drinking in bouts of it, spitting out water whenever it got into his mouth in the process, as he swam them both towards the bank of the river.

They were almost near London Bridge now, and it was more difficult to get where he wanted to go, as he was swimming against the current; so he was relieved when he saw Castiel leap out of the passenger side of a truck and rush onto the embankment to jump in after them. He helped John get Sherlock to land, where they laid him limply down on the concrete, and pools of moisture formed around them as they dripped.

The first thing John noticed as he knelt down was Sherlock's wrist. It had already swelled and turned discolored, and he imagined the rest of the arm would be the same. It was broken in the fall, no doubt, but he couldn't focus on that just yet.

"He's not breathing," Cas panted.

"No, he's not," John said, surprised by his own calm, as he folded his palms over Sherlock's heart and began pumping up and down. "Come on, Sherlock . . . Come on, you bastard . . ." he chanted under his breath.

"Not like this . . . Not today . . . Don't you do this to me. Come on."

Sherlock's body remained limp and unresponsive, and John realized how unfair it was that his own heart pounding in his ears. He glanced up at Castiel, who was bulging down at Sherlock and looking helpless. This would have been easier if he was still an angel. It would have been easier if he could heal Sherlock with a touch, but John could not think on that. He had to rely on his training. Not magic.

His maneuvers became more forceful, and he was certain he'd leave bruising behind, but it seemed to do the trick because Sherlock suddenly tensed. He sputtered and coughed up water until his lungs were emptied onto the concrete, and both Castiel and John gave out exuberant breaths.

"Sherlock—Sherlock!" John breathed, fishing for his attention, as he held his hands out in case Sherlock needed aid.

Sherlock tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but he immediately let out a harsh hiss and ghosted his fingers over his swollen arm. Favoring it, he sat up and brushed away the wet hair matting his forehead and eyes.

"Are you alright?" John worried, and Sherlock blinked away the droplets of water cascading down his nose and temples.

"My coat," he croaked, getting a feel for his voice again. "Where's my coat?"

Exhaustion finally overcame John, and he let out a heavy breath and fell back on the hard, but surprisingly comfortable ground.

"Oh, you dick," he breathed.

* * *

Sam needed to reload. He was out of bullets, but he didn't have enough breathing room to put in a new magazine. Holding Ruby's knife at the ready, he scanned the area for a place he could take cover, but when he turned around, he caught sight of a Silence standing only an arms length from him. He gasped at the grotesque sight, instantly calling to mind the other Silence he saw during the battle, and each time previous.

Forcing himself not to look away, he reacted quickly to the Silence by tightened his grip around the dagger and rushing forward. He jabbed the knife into the creature's chest, hearing it let out a screeching sound before he withdrew the blade and let the body crumple to his feet. He watched it fall, but then brought his eyes back up to the battle and—

There was no sanctuary anywhere he looked. He gripped tighter onto Ruby's knife in one hand and his useless gun in the other. He was still scanning the area when something from above caught his eyes. He squinted at the top of the building, where a shadow was standing on the edge of the rooftop, looking over the chaos. Sam thought the figure looked familiar.

"_Merlin_!" he shouted, but Merlin made no sign that he had heard.

Behind Merlin, two other figures appeared at his side, and Sam's heart dropped in panic. He rushed closer to the building, quickly taking down any demon that got in his way as he called Merlin's name in warning.

However, all three shadows on the roof remained still. Over the noise and confusion surrounding Sam, he thought he heard Merlin's voice carrying downwards. It was hard to tell what he was saying, but it sounded like some kind of Latin.

One of the men at Merlin's side jumped off the side of the roof, letting himself fall for a few feet. Sam froze, watching in horror as he waited for the impact. But then the human figure started to change. It happened rapidly. The man sprouted wings and transformed into something one hundred times his original size.

The dragon roared and gave a single flap of its great wings to soar high above the buildings. The wind it created nearly knocked Sam over and, around him, the other fighters became distracted and turned their eyes towards the sky.

The second dragon jumped from the roof, going through the same transformation and spewing flames from its nostrils as it flew upwards to join the other. Once they were level with each other, the dragons circled the area, spitting out balls of fire that crashed into the roads and buildings like canon balls and lit up the entire street orange.

Sam took his eyes off the dragons, following their bouts of flame towards the ducking and scattering troops. Humans and demons alike forgot their weapons and pushed against each other in attempt to find cover, and some lost their footing and disappeared beneath the masses.

Sam let the crowd jostle him as he watched as the Silence held their ground, standing rigid as the hollows of their eyes peered up at the creatures. Two of them hunched down, and Sam let out a shout and staggered backwards as the aliens twisted their mouths into ovals and breathed in a death rattle.

Around them, sparks of hot blue electricity flew. A bolt connected to a nearby demon, who was thrown backwards forcefully by the jolt. The masses pushed away from the Silence as the electrical currents grew larger, and the two raised their gray hands to direct the surge upwards.

Sam felt his heart jump when a bolt hit one of the dragons as it swooped, but it seemed only to bounce off its scales. It left nothing but a small sear behind. The dragon let out a roar of anger and swooped lower, ejecting fire onto the opposing Silence, and their bodies smoldered as they hit the tar.

_Sam_.

That was Merlin's voice. It echoed in Sam's head, and at first he thought he'd imagined it. But then the name grew louder, and Sam immediately brought his gaze back to the rooftop, where he could make out Merlin's silhouette against the first pink rays of the sun.

_Dean has taken Parliament_, Merlin's voice echoed, mixing with his thoughts. _This area is overrun with Silence._

Sam was shocked by the news. He brought his eyes back down to the street, looking around for any Silence. He saw none, or maybe he did. He was starting to second-guess himself.

_Let us handle it_, Merlin continued. _Arthur needs you more. He's already laid siege on Buckingham but he needs reinforcements. Get to him._

Sam wasn't sure whether or not Merlin could see him, but he felt his eyes, and he nodded his understanding.

"Alright, fall back!" Sam shouted to his troops. He cut his way through the crowd, avoiding the fallen bodies whenever he happened upon one, and gestured his hands in the direction they needed to head.

"To Buckingham!" he bellowed. "Get to Buckingham!"

* * *

Merlin let out a breath of relief as Sam organized his battalion and led them in the direction of the Palace. The Enforcers and Silence continued to scramble in dragon's attacks, but many of them had caught fire. He saw a few engulfed bodies running blindly in a desperate attempt to smother the flames, only to fall to the ground and lay motionless. Ordinary fire would not work on the demons, but there was almost nothing a dragon's breath could not kill.

Once the area was cleared of the threats, the dragons beat their wings and rose up into the air. They flew off to other parts of the city to lend their aid.

Merlin drew his gaze to the horizon, at the fiery clouds collecting on the sunrise.

It was time.

And then he felt something odd: a sensation that made his magic bubble and settle in his fingertips. There was a presence with him, one he'd not felt in a long time.

He looked over his shoulder to find Morgana standing on the rooftop with him. A one-sided smirk pulled at her lips, making her icy eyes twinkle.

"Hello, Emrys," she said, her voice seeming to slither.

Merlin turned around to face her fully. "Hello, Morgana," he answered tonelessly.

They held each other's eyes for a long moment before Morgana abruptly brought her hand up, attempting to push him off the roof. He raised his hand, too, making the force ricocheted back to her. It was only a nudge: not enough to throw her off her feet, but she stumbled backwards.

Once she balanced herself again, she let out a low chuckle.

"Looks like all those years of waiting for my brother haven't slowed you," she said. The smile faded from her face and her eyes grew hard. "But they've made you a fool. You should have gone to Arthur when you have the chance."

Merlin kept his face even, but he raised his chin slightly to square up his posture.

"Do you really believe your demons are more skilled than Arthur?" he asked, not without pride.

"One of them is," Morgana answered with arrogance of her own. Her catlike smirk reformed. "After all, he's killed Arthur before."

A pit formed in Merlin's stomach, but he wouldn't let it show.

* * *

An explosion had gone off in the throne room.

It had been from more than a demon bomb. The blast had made the double doors slam open, and it knocked a few people in the hall beyond off their feet. Arthur ran inside the room and took a sweeping look around it. Silhouettes of ash littered the floor, but so did the bodies of his soldiers. Everyone in the room had been slaughtered, but he didn't know how. The demons must have done something in the last second before the bomb exploded; they must have been determined to take as many humans with them into death.

Hoping to find survivors, Arthur's rushing footsteps echoed against the walls as he went to the nearest body and swooped down beside it. He checked the young woman's pulse, but her heart was still. He closed his eyes in a moment of silence, despite the cries and gunshots filtering in from the rest of the palace.

Then the relative quiet was interrupted by another set of footsteps. Arthur gripped onto his sword and jumped up immediately. He turned to face the intruder, slashing his sword through the air to point it out warningly. However, the demon was still feet away.

At first glance, Arthur recognized the black uniform and those cold, leering eyes. He kept his sword from wavering, not wanting to show remorse, fear, or betrayal.

After all, the shock of all three was his downfall the last time.

"Hello, Arthur," the demon said. "Have you worked out who I am yet?"

"I'm afraid so," Arthur answered, "Mordred."

Mordred sneered. "Then, you'll remember this."

He unsheathed his sword.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six.**

The light on the transmitter turned from orange to green, and the Doctor let out a small celebratory noise because of it. All the devices were in place, ready for Clara to activate them, but the comms were still down. There was only one way to communicate with Clara now.

The Doctor looked over his shoulder at the smoke rising in the distance above the buildings. They were tinted red as the rising sun peaked out from the horizon.

"Come on, Merlin," the Doctor breathed. "Where are you?"

* * *

"You should be more worried about him," Morgana said. "You know that history has a way of repeating itself, Emrys."

Merlin bit at the inside of his mouth in thought, and he did his best to keep the worry he truly did feel for Arthur off his face.

"You still won't call by my name," he observed, doing all he could to steer the conversation away from Arthur. "Not the one you knew by, anyway. Why is that, Morgana? Is it out of hate?"

Perhaps the name Emrys was different than Merlin. _Emrys_ was a declaration that he was her great enemy. But then what connotation did _Merlin_ hold?

He narrowed his eyes at her sizingly.

"Or are you trying to disconnect yourself from your history?"

"I haven't forgotten where I've come from," she assured him, eyeing him pointedly. "Just like I remember all those who betrayed me along the way. You should talk about distancing yourself from your past. You've been doing it long enough. After all, you're the one who left my body to rot."

"Rot?" Merlin repeated incredulously. "After Arthur died, I went back for you. Morgana, I buried you."

Morgana's mouth fell agape as the realization of this pressed down on her.

"I marked your grave."

Her eyes darted back and forth wildly, not able to meet his gaze as she appeared to think this through. However, her face turned hard once more.

"You wouldn't have needed to if you didn't kill me in the first place," she said hatefully through her teeth.

"You gave me no choice," he defended.

"And now you don't have that option," she sneered. "But I do. I have Mordred's blade. All those years you kept it, your only way out of this pitiful life. I wonder why you never took it. Were you afraid you'd join me in Hell?" Her red lips curled. "It wouldn't be right killing you with that sword. But never mind. Soon, I'll have Arthur—the one you created."

And Merlin wasn't sure if she was speaking of the sword or of Arthur.

"Once his body is paraded through the city and all your toy soldiers lose their hope of winning, I'll kill you with his sword myself."

* * *

Neither Arthur nor Mordred had the advantage.

It was true that Arthur was able to anticipate all of Mordred's advanced. The simple fact remained that Arthur had trained him. But that also meant that Mordred knew Arthur's fighting style. The clashing of swords became somewhat of a verse in a dance to them, no matter how hard either of them tried to break free from the pattern.

It soon became a battle of endurance. Mordred knew it, too.

Arthur uncrossed their swords and kicked backwards to put some space between himself and Mordred. Once Mordred had collected himself, he leveled his blade, pointing it at Arthur, and Arthur mirrored the stance. Arthur took a step to his right, and Mordred to the left; and they continued to circle each other, waiting for the other to make the next move.

Arthur tried to steady his breathing, but it was coming out broken and his chest was heaving with exhaustion. Mordred did not seem so effected.

"Now's your chance to surrender, _my_ _lord_," Mordred hissed. "Tired, are you? Weak? You're still just a man, Arthur."

"And what are you?" Arthur asked. "Are you all smoke and wickedness now? I won't accept that. Somewhere inside of you, there is still a Knight of Camelot."

Mordred laughed. "There is no Camelot anymore! Did you not see? That city is a barren wasteland now, full of disease and death."

"It can rebuild."

"But Camelot never can," Mordred countered. "It's forgotten, and you belong with it."

He rushed forward, bringing his sword down, but Arthur blocked it and pushed away. He stumbled a few feet backwards, and Mordred advanced again. He backed Arthur up the carpeted steps of the dais, until Arthur's knees hit the seat of the throne.

Mordred jabbed again, and Arthur avoided it by falling into the throne. Their blades crossed once more, and Mordred pressed down upon him. Arthur fought with all his strength to push back, but his elbows locked and began trembling under the pressure and beads of sweat trickled down his temples. He grunted and grinded his teeth as though his willfulness could increase his might. The swords inched closer to his face every second, and he pressed his back further against the chair.

Mordred's face twisted as he commanded the rest of his strength into bringing his sword down. Then, quickly, he drew back and unbalanced Arthur. Arthur had no time to do anything but instinctually brace himself for the inevitable.

And then Mordred let out a howl of pain. His entire body tensed and his sword clanged to the floor.

Behind him, Arthur saw Sam standing just a few feet away was the dais. He had thrown his dagger into Mordred's back, hitting him right between the shoulder blades.

Not allowing for any more reaction time, Arthur tightened his grip around his sword and thrust it into Mordred's gut, eliciting another wail. Arthur twisted his blade until Mordred's skin lit up like fire and the eyes went blank. His body buckled to the carpet, one arm limply dangling off the first step of the steps.

Arthur took in a deep breath and slumped into the cushioned throne, attempting to regulate his heartbeat, while Sam ran the rest of the way towards him.

"Hey, hey, you alright?" Sam worried, placing one hand on Arthur's shoulder and the other on his chest.

Arthur squared his jaw, still panting through his nose as he nodded sternly.

Sam released him and got his dagger out of Mordred's back.

"Come on, man," he said to Arthur, taking his arm and jerking him to his legs. "Sun's coming up. We're gonna miss the show."

* * *

"Give up, Emrys," Morgana spat. "You've got toy soldiers while I have a real army. Your and Arthur—his so-called Disciples of the Light—you don't stand a chance, and you know it. You've failed once, and you'll fail again."

Merlin shook his head. "Not this time, Morgana," he said. "Because I've got something you haven't."

Morgana let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Oh, come now, Emrys. Don't tell me you have _friends_."

"No," he said. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out Clara's mobile, a message on the screen ready to be sent to the Tardis. His thumb hovered over the send key as he grinned.

"I've got text messaging." His thumb slammed down on _send_. "Welcome to the twenty-first century."

* * *

Clara had been rushing around the console, pushing as many random buttons as she could to get the comms back online, but it was no use. The Tardis was too complex even for her.

Suddenly, on the other side of the console, the Tardis monitor beeped, and Clara's hair twirled out around her as she quickly turned her head towards it. She rushed for the screen to find a one-word message. It had been sent from her mobile.

_Now!_

Her heart skipped a beat in urgency, but she quickly drew her gaze back to the controls and slammed her palm down on the correct big red button.

The Doctor could never resist one of those.

* * *

Beams of red light shot out from the transmitters. They concentrated into thin lines as they pointed down the streets to connect with the next. Merlin watched the lights join together on every side of the building he was standing atop, and he saw more of the red shimmering in the distance, covering the whole of Central London and beyond.

He imagined what the aerial view must have looked like: a giant pentagram.

A moment later, the transmitters kicked into life again, and Dean's prerecorded voice blared at full volume across the town: "_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,_ _omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii,_ _omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica._ _Ergo, draco maledicte._ _Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire,_ _te rogamus, audi nos._"

Halfway through the incantation, the demons began dropping to their knees and clutching at their throats, choking up the black clouds that were now being forced from their vessels and upwards into the air.

Arthur and Sam were watching from a balcony of Buckingham, their eyes wide as the columns of smoke rose up to the sky and blended together into a mass that blocked out the sunrays. The Doctor witnessed the same sight from over the tops of the skyscrapers. Near London Bridge, John and Castiel, who were helping Sherlock get up to street level, froze at what they were seeing. In Piccadilly, Yasmin was standing right beneath the cloud and looking up towards it, and her fellow druids had already dropped their weapons and begun to rejoice. Inside Parliament, Dean was shielding himself with his arms over his head as the smoke flew above him towards the windows or the air vents. Clara was jumping for joy and clapping as she watched the footage on the monitor.

As soon as all the black souls collected above the city, the wind picked up and they rained back down. They fell hard around Merlin, and he could hardly see his own hand in the black when he held it out in front of him. But soon it was over, and the smoke disappeared into the concrete below, back into Hell.

He brought his gaze to the front again, where Morgana was staring down manically at the street below where her army had disappeared. Her lips were parted and trembling in what Merlin guessed was rage—but maybe it was fear. The same fear that was in her eyes when they swept up to him.

Instantly, she threw her head back, willing her blackened spirit to leave her body. It tore from her lips, but Merlin was beside her in an instant, his eyes glowing gold as he curled his fingers into a fist and forced the smoke back down Morgana's throat. When it was over, she took in heaving gasps of air. He kept his fist balled up, paralyzing her.

"You can't kill me, Emrys," she panted, sounding broken. "If you're going to send me back to Hell, just do it!"

He knelt down beside her, catching her panicked eyes with a blank expression.

"I'm not going to send you back to Hell, Morgana," he told her through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to make it that easy for you."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven.**

Sam walked at Arthur's side through the floors of Buckingham, where the carpets were soaked in red but the golden-lined walls still shimmered with elegance. The chandeliers were still grand and the portraits still noble; but there were corpses lining their path, some of the vessels of the Enforcers and others men and women that Sam had trained. Sam tried not to linger on their blank faces, because the battle was over, but there was still more to do.

Not everyone had died. There were plenty of wounded, who were now being cared for by the medical teams and other soldiers alike. Then there were those who survived possession. Their wounds were rarely physical; they were the kinds that could not heal. Some of them were sobbing while others shouted in confusion, terror, or madness. Others still stared off blankly, their eyes as veiled as the dead.

Sam heard a crackling in his ear and the Doctor's voice came through, clear as a bell.

"I've taken the transmitters down. Should allow us to talk to each other again. Hello! Anyone reading this?"

Sam and Arthur both stopped in their tracks to listen, and then Arthur put his hand to his ear and said, "We hear you, Doctor."

"Who's _we_?"

"Uh, me," Sam said into his comm. "Me and Arthur."

"Sammy, damn, it's good to hear you," Dean said, and Sam could practically hear his smile. It made Sam grin, too, and he felt the weight of his worry leave him in an exhale.

"Well, anyone who's listening, we're all having a bit of a celebratory get together in Trafalgar Square. That seems to be a tradition for you lot," the Doctor said. "Why don't you come on over?"

Arthur wanted to stay to help the wounded, but Sam convinced him to leave. The doctors had it taken care of, anyway, and Arthur deserved a little bit of celebration and relaxation. They all did.

They met the Doctor in front of the National Gallery, where they shared happy embraces and praises until Dean showed up to restart the cycle. However, Dean was mostly interested in Sam. He clapped his palms on Sam's shoulders, scanning his face intently for any major injuries. When he was satisfied, he gave Sam's shoulders a squeeze, which Sam smiled at.

"How's it goin', Sammy?" Dean asked with a smirk.

"I'm fine," Sam answered, knowing what he was really asking. He let out a breath of laughter and admitted, "Pretty starving, actually."

Dean released him and took a step back. "I can do ya for a bottle of water," he said, swinging his backpack in front of him and unzipping it. "That's about it."

Sam was grateful. The past few months, Dean had been all over him like a mother hen, making sure he was eating and drinking enough. Sam usually found it annoying, but now he couldn't have been happier for it. Thanking Dean, he took the bottle and gulped down the contents in one go, until the plastic crinkled in his grip.

In the meantime, Cas, Sherlock, and John walked up the steps leading to the Gallery and made their way towards the group. Sam wrinkled his brow at the three of them, all looking damp. Beyond that, Sherlock's arm was in a makeshift sling. Apparently, everyone else had noticed it, too.

"What's happened to you?" asked Arthur.

"We went for a dip in Thames," Sherlock explained, but it only left Sam with more questions.

"It's good to see you all in one piece," John told them.

"It's even better to see this," Arthur agreed. He was looking out at the masses of people in the square, filling it entirely and flooding into Charing Cross and the streets beyond. In the throng, Sam latched on to certain individuals as they found their loved ones or perfect strangers and shared embraces and tearful kisses. Some people had broken out into song, which others were quickly joining in on. Others were dancing or climbing the walls and statues to get a better view of the crowd as a whole.

The corners of Sam's lips tugged up as he watched them, and he was aware of the others pausing to enjoy the sight, too.

"Look at that. It's victory," the Doctor said content, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No," Arthur told him. "It's peace."

Sam brought his eyes back to their small cluster when everyone else did, and Cas said, "Are we sure about that? We still don't know where Morgana is. She could have escaped."

"Or maybe not," the Doctor told him. "Not all of us are here, after all."

Sam looked at the Doctor in curiosity, and he found the Doctor was staring beyond the group. He pointed his chin that direction, and everyone turned to follow his line of regard.

About halfway down the building, Sam spotted Merlin sticking his head around one of the columns. Sam expected him to be grinning from ear to ear, but he wasn't. His expression was set. Once Merlin was certain he'd gotten their attention, he disappeared behind the column again and started for the main door of the museum. They all followed after him.

He led them through the main lobby and into the rotunda, where a blackened devil's trap had been burnished into the tiling. Sitting in the center of it was Morgana, her palms spread out flat on the floor beneath her as she stared down at them in anger.

When they arrived and spread out into a semicircle around her, she slowly glared up at them through her lashes, looking like something feral and snarling and twisted.

"Hello, dear brother," she said to Arthur, her words like venom.

"Morgana," he regarded her dryly.

"The devil's trap won't hold her for long," Merlin said. "We have to find somewhere more permanent."

"Uh, I dunno, maybe _Hell_?" Dean offered sardonically.

"Not good enough," Sherlock said. "She got out once. What makes you think she won't again?"

"People are going to want her to answer for her crimes," said Arthur.

"Yeah, but no human prison can hold her," Sam told him. "It's better to take care of this now."

"And we can't kill 'er," Dean agreed. "Anyone got any ideas?"

"I know of a place we can keep her," said Castiel.

"Where?" came Sherlock.

"Sam's right: There's no prison on Earth that can contain a Knight of Hell, but there is a jail for her." Castiel took a sweeping look at all of them, but his eyes rested on the Doctor. "Across the universe," he said. "We have to hope the Tardis can get us there."

"And why's that?" the Doctor said, somewhat affronted.

"Because," explained Castiel. "We have to travel back to the beginning."

"The beginning of what?" Sam asked.

"Of time."

The Doctor didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he brought his fingers to his comm. and said into it, "Clara, we're going to need the Tardis. Pay attention—I'm going to teach you how to fly her to us."

* * *

Merlin followed the Doctor out of the Tardis and into the darkness beyond. Morgana stumbled out after him, struggling with all her might and magic against an invisible tether. Merlin tried to ignore it, to keep himself apathetic and level headed. It was hard to do when he noticed Arthur casting Morgana sad eyes when he thought no one was looking.

Merlin focused instead on what the Doctor was saying to Clara as he rubbed his palms together in glee.

"We've landed in the first sliver of the universe—a brand new cosmos. The clock's barely just started up."

"Is that why the Tardis didn't want to land?" she asked.

"She gets a bit agitated whenever we get this close to either end of time," he answered before looking back to Merlin. "Thanks for the boost."

Merlin did not answer, but instead peered around their surroundings now that his eyes were adjusted to the low light. They seemed to be in some sort of cave.

"Where are we, anyway?" Clara asked.

"Don't know," the Doctor said, but then he stopped short as the group entered a chasm. "Or maybe I do . . ."

Merlin made out small red drawings on the rock walls, depicting a struggle: small figures forcing a great beast into a pit. Sherlock had produced a penlight and was now studying the cave etchings. Merlin's eyes wandered down the length of the cave, and he saw small two small stands with a dusty yellow vase on each placed a few feet from one another. Behind the vases was the end of the cave, and he noted heavy iron shackles chained to the wall.

Castiel was making his way towards the vases now. He stood between them, surveying them with care.

Merlin had never seen a place like this, but he could tell it wasn't a kind one from Morgana's reaction.

"No!" she shouted, attempting to crawl away, but Castiel was too quick for her. He extended his palm towards one of the vases, and both of them lit up a burnt yellow to his touch. In a blink of the eye, Morgana was cuffed to the shackles.

She fruitlessly struggled and raged against the restraints. Merlin had to avert his eyes from her. Even now, he couldn't forget that beautiful woman who he had first seen in Camelot all those years past. If only he had helped her; if only he hadn't made her think she was alone . . .

"Cas," sounded Dean's voice in the darkness. "What is this place?"

"It's said that, before the universe was created, God made places like these for the archangels to serve as their training grounds in preparation for the apocalypse," Castiel began. "But, after Lucifer fell and created his Knights of Hell, these planets became the perfect prisons. The angels would capture the Knights and bring them back to beginning of the universe—in the dead space. Only then would time allow the human vessel melt away, and the demon inside would twist back into its own visage."

"What? These beasts?" John asked, nodding towards the cave drawings.

"Those represent the imprisonment of Lucifer, to remind the Knights of their master's own failure—but yes," Cas said. "They would become beasts."

"What if they escaped?" Sam wondered.

Cas meant to answer, but instead the Doctor's said, "They wouldn't. And, if they did, they'd be sorry. Before the universe was created, there would be nowhere to escape _to_—nowhere to run. But, after the Big Bang, the angels got clever."

"Each planet orbits a black hole," Castiel added. "If they managed to escape, the planet would fall into it and the Knight would die."

"A planet orbiting an imploded star?" Sherlock said skeptically. "That's impossible."

"No, it's not," the Doctor said airily, and then said to Castiel, "You could have just killed them, you know. That could be a little more humane."

"Eventually, they were all killed," Castiel told him. "But Michael believed they should suffer for their allegiance to Lucifer first." There was a hint of guilt in Castiel's large eyes as he said this.

"Okay, but the archangels are all dead now," Dean said. He pointed to Morgana, who had given up fighting. "They couldn't know about her. So, what? They don't kill her?"

"She will be forgotten, yes," Castiel agreed.

"An eternity of imprisonment." It was Arthur's voice that cut through the darkness that time. Merlin looked around to find him, and eventually saw him standing between the vases, intently gazing at his half-sister. Merlin could not see Arthur's expression, but he knew him well enough to tell that he was having mixed feelings about all this. Merlin could see just by the line of Arthur's shoulders that he did not want to leave Morgana here for the rest of time, but he knew it was the only choice.

"That should be enough penance," Arthur said, making up his mind. He turned from Morgana and began making distance between them.

Morgana looked up at the receding Arthur with fury in her eyes. "You will rot in Hell, Arthur Pendragon," she spat.

Arthur's shoulders went rigid at this and he stopped walking. After a pause, he turned to meet Morgana's glare. "No, Morgana," he said, somewhat sadly. "I'm not enough like you."

He began walking again, passing the group, and the rest of them followed, each taking a last look at Morgana's broken form. However, the Doctor stayed behind, and Merlin noticed he looked somewhat pleased—like he had just had a revelation.

"Doctor?" Merlin wondered aloud.

The Doctor seemed to snap out of his cheerful trance. "Yes," he said. "Be right with you." He smiled softly at Merlin and then nodded to Morgana. "I'll be seeing you around, _Morgana_," he said, and then followed the others into the darkness towards the Tardis.

Before doing the same, Merlin reluctantly looked over his shoulder. He gulped passed the lump that had formed in his throat when his eyes searched Morgana's face for the last time.

She did not return his gaze.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight.**

_One week later._

". . . still no sign of the mysterious Arthur, whom many claim to be the fabled Once and Future King. In related news, many parts of the city have sustained damages that are said to be repaired by the end of the month. Though, it seems the time frame will be longer for much of the UK and Ireland. With billions of pounds leant from the US and EU, it is estimated that the nationwide repairs will create thousands of new jobs. The Prime Minister is said to go into more detail in his press conference later this evening. For now, with the Royal Family back in Buckingham and thousands of people returning to their homes, the citizens of London are looking hopeful . . ."

Merlin tried to continue listening, but that task was becoming harder to do. Mrs. Hudson's voice drowned out the sound of the radio. She was walking into the main room from the kitchen, duster in hand, as she worried, "Oh, will you look at the state of this place? This duster's no use. And I'm sure we've had people living in here while we were gone. I keep finding odd things here and there. I could do with a little help with the cleaning up, you know?"

She posed the question to the room as a whole, but no one made an attempt to respond. From his place on the floor, Merlin looked up and to his side to Arthur, who was sitting in the armchair and pulling a face. Dean, who was sitting in the chair across from them, averted his eyes to Clara, who was seated on the arm of the chair. Behind them, the Doctor fiddled with the sonic and Sam suddenly became fascinated with the curtains. At the desk, Cas' eyes shifted around the room to look for a diversion and, in the chair next to him, Sherlock picked the lint off his one of many identical coats with his formerly broken hand that Merlin had healed for him.

"I'll come 'round tomorrow to help," Mary promised from her place next to John on the leather couch.

"Mary, bless. Everyone else seems to be too full of themselves. You save the world once and you think you're excused from chores." She flicked her wrist dismissively. "Mind you, I'll have to pop out and get a new hoover," she thought aloud. "The old one's been broken."

With that, she turned around and fluttered out the door.

"She's a firecracker," Clara laughed.

"She's charming," Mary cooed.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson sang from down the staircase. "Visitors!"

As the sound of multiple footsteps filtered upwards, everyone's attention returned to the doorway and, momentarily, Yasmin and Kate strode through.

"Hey, hey!" Dean called from across the room. "Haven't seen you two in a few days."

"Didn't think I'd let you lot leave without a proper goodbye?" Yasmin teased.

"Imagine a _proper_ goodbye from the Doctor!" Kate said with a roll of her eyes. "You're asking too much."

"Oi! Who says we're going anywhere?" the Doctor asked, sounding offended.

Kate raised a brow. "It's been a week already. I'm shocked you've stayed for this long. Usually, you're gone within the hour."

The Doctor gave a smug smirk and shrugged with his palms up. "Like I said, I'm the janitor of the universe."

"Uh, he only stayed because I made him," Arthur corrected, making the Doctor pull a face. Merlin shot Arthur a smirk.

"Then, you've achieved a feat," Kate told Arthur. "Among many, apparently. How exactly did you say Morgana's been neutralized?"

Arthur tensed only slightly, but he didn't give any emotion away. "I didn't say," he told her. "Just know she won't be any more trouble."

"But there will be more threats to come," Kate said, addressing the group in general. "UNIT understands now that there are concerns apart from the extraterrestrial. There are dangers present on Earth."

"What will you do about it?" wondered John.

Kate looked at Yasmin and smirked. "Tell them your news."

To this, Merlin's brows shot to his hairline in wonder. "News? What news?" he asked, feeling a rising sense of eagerness in his gut as Yasmin beamed at him.

"Kate has offered me a job—along with the rest of my order, and all the other druids who survived the battle. She wants us to form a subdivision to UNIT that sees to the supernatural threats on Earth. She wants me to lead it," she explained.

"Militarized hunters?" Dean asked with suspicion. "Workin' for the government?"

"_Witches_ working for the government," Merlin corrected, suddenly feeling breathless. He looked at Arthur to gauge his reaction, but Arthur was already looking at him.

"And wizards," Yasmin added happily.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Sherlock asked. "Magic in the military? It's bound to intimidate America, at the very least."

"I've told you, UNIT is not strictly military, Mr. Holmes," Kate told him professionally, like she had the answer ready. "We don't concern ourselves with international wars and relations. We're here for the safety of the citizens of the United Kingdom."

"On the defense," Yasmin simplified. "Just as the druids have always been. We just want to protect people."

Kate nodded her solidarity. "Together, we'll rebuild this city—this _country_."

"I am pleased," Arthur said, and Merlin smiled from ear to ear. "And I wish you luck."

"You can do more than wish us luck," Yasmin said hopefully, but she was looking to Merlin. "Join us? We'll need to find more people with magic to recruit, and we'll have to train them and teach them the proper way to use their gifts for good. Who better to do that than you, Emrys? We could all learn so much from you."

Merlin allowed himself to picture it. He could see himself with dozens of bright-eyed young magicians looking to him to guide them. He could imagine himself in a world where magic was accepted and utilized for the good of all. He could be out in the action again, defending Queen and Country from harm. He could reap the benefits of Albion.

Then he looked to Arthur, who was giving him a strong, faint smile, but his eyes betrayed him.

"It's a good opportunity, Merlin," he said softly. "You deserve no less."

"There's a place for you, too," Kate said upon Arthur's response. "Not in this division, of course, but UNIT could use a man like you. Quartermaster Sergeant Pendragon. What do you say?"

Arthur seemed pleased with this, and he mulled it over with a smirk before answering with, "It _does_ have a nice ring to it, I'll admit; but I'm afraid I have to decline. It's time I retired." He looked to the window to the left of his chair—at the streets, the people, the tall buildings that stretched on for miles in every direction. "This is a new world."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kate said, but she looked at Merlin expectantly.

At once, Merlin knew he would not take the offer. He would follow Arthur this time—wherever it took him.

"I have waited so long for magic to return to this land," he told Yasmin, "but you'll do just brilliantly without me. I think I've had quite enough adventure." And he didn't regret a word. "Arthur's right. This world is for you."

"Merlin," Arthur said quickly, sounding regretful. "You should go. Have a big office in the Tower of London."

Merlin pulled a face, feigning consideration. "Nah. I've seen the Tower loads of times. Total tourist trap."

Arthur beamed at him.

However, Yasmin's smile faded slightly in disappointment, but she nodded her acceptance. "Then I'll remember the lessons you've taught me and pass them on," she promised him.

"Good luck," Merlin wished her.

"Yes, well then, Yasmin, we have quite a bit to do and I suggest we get to it," Kate said breezily. She turned forward again and gave a slight nod in their general direction. "Gentlemen. It's been a privilege."

"Always an honor, Kate Lethbridge-Stewart," the Doctor said with a salute, and Kate and Yasmin headed back down the stairs.

Next, John and Mary stood up from the couch and shared a look before John cleared his throat and said, "We'll be off, too. We've got a few open houses to go to in the suburbs."

Mary smiled happily and slipped her hand into his.

"I don't know why you're bothering," Sherlock droned with a lofty wave of his hand. "I already told you, you won't last a month."

"Well, I think it's great," Sam cut in, showing his support, before John could argue with Sherlock.

"Yeah, me too," Dean agreed. "You two go live your apple-pie lives."

"I think we'll do just that," John promised him hopefully. He and Mary circulated the room, John giving everyone a handshake goodbye and Mary planting kisses on their cheeks. Then they headed for the door.

Before he exited, however, John stood upright and gave a firm two-fingered salute to the group, but his eyes were on Arthur in particular. Arthur respectfully bowed his head in thanks before John clicked his heels, stiffly turned, and he and Mary took their leave.

"And what about you?" the Doctor asked Sherlock afterward. "What's next for the great Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock let out a thoughtful chuckle. "Think of the chaos this will bring, Doctor!" he said, perhaps more excitedly than he should have, with a gesture. "'Oh, Sherlock, do help: I think my mother-in-law is possessed.'" His energy was infectious: the Doctor was laughing, too. "And, who knows, perhaps some of them may unwittingly stumble onto a _real_ case."

"The game is on!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"It most certainly is!"

"Yeah, well, that's great for you," Dean grumbled, "but it doesn't exactly solve our problem." He looked to Sam. "We still got _another_ Knight of Hell to deal with. You up for round two?"

Sam shrugged. "Guess I'm gonna have to be."

Dean's eyes shot to Cas. "What about you?"

"Actually, Dean, I thought I might stay here for at least a few more days," Castiel said pensively. He leaned forward in his seat and folded his hands together between his knees. "The people of London still need help. I want to do what I can for them."

Dean raised a brow. "So, what, you're gonna take a jumbo-jet back home?"

"That is the _human_ way to travel," Cas said.

"Cas, you don't even have a passport," Sam pointed out.

"Don't worry," Sherlock told him. "I'll help him find his way when the time comes."

"Alright, then," said Dean. "We'll see you back State-side."

"And I hope you don't mind if I stay with you for the time being?" Castiel asked Sherlock, who pushed a crooked grin to his face.

"Of course not," he responded. "But, if you are to be living here, I feel you should know some of my habits. I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end—"

"And you keep human remains in the refrigerator. I know," Cas finished for him, eliciting ambiguous expressions from the rest of the group. "Do what you have to. In my spare time, I will just sit here quietly."

"We should have no problem at all," Sherlock said as though he'd just found his dream flatmate. Cas grinned at him with the same reverence.

After another round of goodbyes and well wishes, Merlin, Arthur, the Doctor, Clara, and the Winchesters exited the room and made their way out of the flat.

"Time to give the rest of you a lift home, then," the Doctor said merrily. He was the first out of the building, and he skipped down the porch steps with Merlin behind him and the rest in tow, and they began crossing the street to the Tardis. "Merlin and Arthur, you're the first stop. Hopefully no one's tried to claim your house—or that it's in shambles so no one will want to claim it. It might be a fixer-upper, but I guess that shouldn't be a problem for you, eh, Merlin?"

He spoke rapidly, like he didn't want Merlin to interrupt him, despite the fact that Merlin intended to remain silent until the Doctor tired himself out.

"And, don't worry! I'll land on top of the hill this time so you won't have to make the trek up it."

"Actually, Doctor," Merlin said, and the Doctor spun around to face him, wearing a carefree smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The bottom of the hill will be just fine."

The Doctor's smile fell until his expression matched the look in his eyes, like he'd been expecting those words but hoping against them. Still, he nodded and did not say anything. Instead, he put the key into the lock and pushed the Tardis door open.

* * *

Merlin stared up at the neighborhood atop the hill fondly, mentally walking down its pavements and watching the children play and townsfolk mill about. But those were just memories, like all the rest from his long life that were now playing back in his head: memories of a life he'd never chosen, a life he didn't know if he'd choose again if he could go back.

Standing there now, with the hill stretching above him and Arthur at his side, he thought maybe he would. He'd choose it every time.

The top of that hill had been his home for centuries, and he always dreamed of the moment he would get out of it; but now, when that time had finally come, all he wanted to do was curl up on his sofa with a cup of tea. But those days were behind him now. What was ahead of him, he did not know, but he hoped it would be rest.

He always imagined that, when his time finally came, he would feel relieved, like a weight he could no longer carry was finally lifted from his laden shoulders. But it wasn't like that at all. This moment was ordinary.

There was no shuddering sigh of silence that descended on the world. There was no parade of people to thank him for all he'd done. The world simply kept turning, and no one but a few stray wanderers on the shoreline would notice he was gone, or even know for absolute certainty that he had been there at all. All was as it ever was and ever should be, and that was better than he'd imagined.

"You don't have to do this, ya know," Sam said, dragging Merlin's thoughts back into this world for the last time.

Merlin looked at Sam, whose eyes were soft and whose jaw line was rigid. Then Merlin's gaze passed through Sam, to the ripples of the lake and to the small rowboat on its banks. He always thought his heart would leap at that sight, if it ever came, but Merlin instead felt a steady calm about himself—resigned, ready.

"He's got a point," the Doctor said, walking up to the two of them, all guards up. Merlin knew how much the Doctor hated goodbyes. "You could stay," the Doctor went on with a weak smile. "Arthur belongs in Avalon—"

"And I belong with Arthur," Merlin said frankly. "Not here—not for a long time."

"Well, yeah, but there are other places than just here," the Doctor tried, attempting to sound bright. "Have I ever told you about the planet made of crystal? You'd love to see it!" He turned around slightly to motion to the Tardis. "We could—"

"Doctor—Doctor!" Merlin said loudly, overlapping the rest of the Doctor's sentence, as he placed his palms on the Doctor's shoulders to turn him back around. Merlin's smile was genuine as they locked eyes, and he knew that, even now, the Doctor would not allow himself to say what was on his mind. However, that didn't mean Merlin couldn't.

"I will miss you, Doctor."

It took a moment, but the Doctor nodded and pushed another weak smile onto his face, looking as though no one had ever uttered those words to him.

Knowing the Doctor wasn't fully satisfied, Merlin continued, "Oh, Doctor. Do you remember what you told me, all those years ago, about stories? Well, now I have something to tell you: They must end. If they didn't, what would be the point? I am tired, Doctor. Arthur and I have done what we set out to do. We're warriors, but our battle is now over. It's time to let the peacekeepers have a chance. I've watched this world grow old—I have seen the magic in it—and now I think it's time it got on without me."

Merlin's gaze caught Arthur, who was standing a few feet away from the rowboat. He moved towards him, and they both faced the others: Dean and Clara, the Doctor and Sam, and that marvelous time machine behind them.

"Thank you," Merlin said to them. "All of you. I am happy to have called you my friends, and I wish you happiness, even if you think you don't deserve it. You do."

Arthur and Merlin moved to say goodbye, to give their last handshakes or hugs, and Merlin at last made his way to Sam as Arthur went to the boat.

Sam nodded at Merlin. Neither of them could quite believe all this started because of a statue in Oregon. Some stories began in the strangest places, and so did they end.

"My _friend_," Merlin said to him. "It turns out you were right all along. Destiny isn't all it's cracked up to be, but I am glad that it brought me to you."

"Me too," Sam said simply, pressing a tight smile to his lips.

However, Merlin's smile faded as he scanned Sam up and down. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Sam," he said.

Sam shrugged and kicked at the grass under his feet. "About you leaving? Don't worry about it," he said. "I get it."

Merlin took in a breath, knowing that Sam would never know what he really meant. Or maybe he would. If that time came, he hoped Sam would be able to forgive him.

"Good luck," Sam said as he and Merlin clasped arms.

"And you."

They lingered like that few a few seconds before pulling closer into a tight embrace.

When it broke, Merlin grinned at him again, letting his regret go. "Have a good life, Sam."

"Merlin, would you hurry up? Everyone is waiting!" Arthur called over from his seat in the boat. "You'll make us late for everything if you don't get you backside in gear."

"Coming, Arthur," Merlin called back, and hustled towards the boat.

As he slid it fully into the water for their last journey together, Arthur asked, "You don't think it will be so bad on the other side, do you, Merlin?"

"An eternity of putting up with your prattishness?" Merlin joked. "It'll be _awful_."

He sat across from Arthur in the rowboat and outstretched his palm to the wooded bottom. He let his eyes shine a brilliant gold as he commanded the boat to steer itself forward, and the water rocked them smoothly as they sailed away. Merlin could see a brightness coming from the top of the tower on the island in the center of the lake—a brightness that meant to surround them. Arthur turned to face it, and glanced over his shoulder happily to meet Merlin's eyes. The light haloed his golden hair.

Just before the glow blanketed them, Merlin took a last look behind him at his friends standing on the banks, with his blue-violet eyes bright and a shining smile—and, in that moment, he looked like a young boy.

* * *

"There we are—back where I found you," the Doctor said, slamming down on one more lever before the roar of the Tardis' engines faded to a background hum. He looked over at Dean and Sam. "Don't suppose I should even ask this time?" He nodded to the console.

"Sorry, Doc," Dean spoke for both of them. "Our lives are just too different."

"No," the Doctor said thoughtfully. "I don't suppose they are."

"Well, don't be strangers!" Clara said, stepping forward and embracing Sam.

"We got your number," Sam assured her before the hug broke.

Then she moved to Dean, beaming up at him genuinely through now glossy eyes. Sam saw Dean's jaw tense, but his smile was also real. How could it not be when he was looking at her?

They wrapped their arms around each other and stayed silent for some time, but the hug had to break eventually, so it did. He cradled her head in his palms and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she leaned into it with closed eyes.

She stepped away and the Doctor came forward, clasping his hands on Dean and Sam's shoulders and smiling grandly.

"Dean and Sam Winchester," he sang, looking at them with his dazzling, old eyes. "I am so proud."

He gave their shoulders another squeeze before moving towards the console. He relaxed his back against it and crossed his arms over his chest. Next to him, Clara leaned her hand on the side of the console and placed her other on her hip. They watched as the Winchesters started out the doors.

"Til next time, boys!" the Doctor called cheerfully, and Dean and Sam looked over their shoulders to see him hold up his palm in a wave. They waved back.

"We'll be seein' you," Dean said.

"'Course you will!" said the Doctor. "I'm not that hard to find. All you've got to do is look up."

Dean and Sam stepped out of the doors and into the cold night. They were standing right outside the warehouse the Doctor had picked them up in, where the Impala was waiting for them. It was dirty and a little worse for wear after all those months of disuse, but both Sam and Dean regarded it with tired, homesick smiles.

The Tardis whizzed again from behind them, and they only turned around in time to see the light on top disappear out of existence.

But that wasn't the last time they saw the ship. On occasion, when they parked the car in an empty field and looked up at the stars, they would see the blue box spinning amid the speckled blackness.

"Show off," Dean would say as they tipped the necks of their beer bottles to the sky, imagining the Doctor dance around his console. This was just a pit stop on the way to some other far corner of the universe.

They would wait until the Tardis faded from view and then, without wasting another moment, Dean and Sam would get back behind the dashboard of the Impala, going wherever the asphalt led them.

And the road went on for miles.

**The End.**

* * *

Soundtrack:

1. Radioactive – Imagine Dragons  
2. God's Gonna Cut You Down – Detroit Social Club  
3. Invincible – OK Go  
4. Seven Devils – Florence + the Machine  
5. Knights of Cyndonia – Muse  
6. Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums – A Perfect Circle  
7. Flesh and Bone – The Killers  
8. Ready Aim Fire – Imagine Dragons  
9. Seven Nation Army – The White Stripes  
10. A Real Hero – College, feat. Electric Youth  
11. Life in Technicolor II – Coldplay

* * *

Acknowledgements

First, of course, I want to thank everyone who has read and supported this trilogy over the past three years. You have completely overwhelmed me. When I first wrote _Where Angels Tread_, I honestly never planned on writing a part two. I didn't even think people would read it! So, when I kept getting requests for a sequel, I was blown away. Really and truly, you've all been so kind. Whether you've been here since the beginning, or you just found these fics now, thank you for reading. Thank you, with all my heart. I can't say that enough.

Next, thank you to my wonderful betas. I would be nothing without you, because I make the stupidest mistakes and, if not for you, I would come across as an illiterate pre-schooler. And, of course, a big thank you to my friends, Armani and Ryan, who have let me talk incessantly about this trilogy to them and never once smacked me upside the head. You two have been real troopers.

Finally, a huge thank you to everyone involved in the production of these four shows. You continue to be an inspiration to me every day, and I hope my little contribution has made you proud and that I did your characters justice. This is my homage to fandom, and it will always be close to my heart because of that. I will miss writing this more than I can say.

Again, thank you, everyone, for your time and your support. I hope you had much fun as I did.

Best regards,  
Mallory


End file.
